Forging a Nation: Ashes
by Bronze Cat
Summary: A girl, noble by birth and loyal to her Telmarine heritage, is thrust into a world she had thought long gone; a world she had thought to be merely a fairytale. Caught between the father she loves and the cousin she adores, the time is rapidly approaching for when she will have to choose a side. From the ashes of a crumbling society shall the next great Telmarine nation be forged.
1. Prologue

We are the Telmarines.

That is not the name originally born by our people in the Old Country. It was gifted to us by the people of Calormen when they first discovered us.

It derives from their ancient tongue;

 _Tel -_ meaning "across", and _Marine -_ meaning "ocean".

Since our lands lay across a great desert from their country, it has been theorised that there was some translation error when our two peoples met for the first time and the Calormens thought our ambassadors came from across a great ocean. In truth, they did; but an ocean of sand, not water. This linguistic mistake has produced much in the way of scholarly debate over the years.

In those first days, our ancestors lived by a great oasis in this desert and they were led by a brother and a sister; Caspian and Isadora. Together, this pair of siblings created the First Great Telmarine Nation. They established trade routes to the nations of Calormen, Narnia and Archenland and led nineteen Merchant Lords. Isadora made the twentieth and Caspian ruled them all as the Merchant King.

Each Merchant Lord was gifted a weapon of office by a servant of the Black Eagle; the most revered figure of our mythology and Guardian of our People. Seven swords, four axes, two hammers, four pikes, two maces, and a unique gift each for Caspian and Isadora.

They were gifted a Dirk and a Bow and forevermore shall they be depicted so; Caspian with the Dirk and Isadora with the Bow. From Caspian's bloodline flowed the Royal Lineage, our Kings and our Rulers. From Isadora's flowed the Defenders, always at the shoulder of the King and highest of the Merchant Lords.

And it is said that, in a time of great turmoil, Caspian and Isadora shall arise again and once more lead our nation to glory. From the ashes of a crumbling society shall the next great Telmarine nation be forged.

 _Who shall rule?_

 _He of the Dirk._

 _Who shall protect?_

 _She of the Bow._

 _Where shall they stand?_

 _Upon the desert sands, the rising sun at their back._

 _To whom shall they answer?_

 _To each other alone, save for the Eagle of Feathers Black._

* * *

Anon, dates unknown. Translated by Dr Cornelius in the second year of the reign of King Caspian X, 2305. Translation commissioned by the Lady Isadora.


	2. Turtle Dove

It's always surprising how many people reside in a castle. From the courtiers right down to the lowliest servant who never sees more than the scullery sink, a castle bustles with life. The larger the castle, the more people see inside its walls and this castle was particularly fine. It was home to the King, after all.

Of course, everyone forgot about the children. It was rather peculiar that they were so often overlooked since children were an integral part of the inner workings of the castle. The undermaids began their trainings at the age of twelve and the stableboys even earlier at the tender age of seven. It was the children of the courtiers who were the most obvious as they romped throughout the castle. They were the only ones allowed a real childhood; strange as all they cared about was getting old enough to become the knights and ladies of their elaborate games.

Three of them were considered to be the favourites; the angels; the ones who could get away with anything. Caspian, son of the King; Gregoire, son of the late Lord Alvaro; and Isadora, the daughter of Lord Miraz.

Although Caspian was the Prince and Gregoire the eldest of the three, Isadora was the undisputed ringleader. Their games and schemes were all born from her imagination. No other child was allowed to join them without her express permission and rarely was this permission granted. She was first cousins with Caspian on her father's side and something like a third cousin to Gregoire on her mother's side (all the noble families were related somehow after all) and she enjoyed the exclusive company of these two of her cousins the most. They were her playmates and they were hers alone.

Caspian's nurse acted as their chaperone for when they played in the gardens or streets of Beaversdam but she was easily evaded. It was a common sight to see the three children run past giggling madly and a few moments later see the nurse go by with a harassed expression and a number of guards to aid in the search for her missing charges. Still, they loved her all madly and begged for her stories. She was a magnificent storyteller. She told them stories of their people; the oldest tale of the original Caspian and Isadora, of the Black-Feathered Eagle, of the Star who wept. She also secretly told them about Old Narnia; of the Witch who kept the world locked in winter for one hundred years, of the Kings and Queens who defeated her and of the Great Lion, Aslan.

The tale of the Battle of Beruna quickly became their favourite game. They were playing it today, in fact, in an attempt to avoid the cloud of despair shrouding the castle and lift Caspian's spirits. His father had been found dead but two nights ago.

Even sombrely dressed in black, their little game was tremendous fun for them. Since he was the one in need of cheering up, Caspian was allowed to be the great warrior, King Peter; a part usually given to Gregoire since he was older and taller than Caspian. Today Gregoire wanted to be Aslan which only left Isadora's role to be defined.

"I don't want to be the Witch, I want to be Queen Susan!" she said, brandishing her crossbow. It was only a toy when compared to the bows used by the guards but it still packed a punch and she had been in trouble before for turning it on the other children when they annoyed her.

"You can't be Queen Susan!" Gregoire replied with the superiority of a nine year old. "Queen Susan wasn't even _at_ the Battle of Beruna! And she didn't have a crossbow!"

Isadora's lip jutted out. "I'm not being the Witch!" she said firmly.

"Fine, we won't play!" Caspian said. "Come on, Gregoire."

"Wait!" she said and ran after them. "Wait, I want to play! I'll be the Witch if I have to!"

They both still ignored her. She pouted angrily and folded her arms.

"Boys!" she exclaimed with a stamp of her little foot. "Stop it now! You are both being so silly!"

They turned and stared at her and she took the opportunity to hurry up to them again.

"Silly? We're not the silly ones," Caspian said. "You are always far more silly. Girls are, you know. Look at your mother. She was silly; she ate far too much food and now she has a big massive tummy."

She hit him playfully on the arm with the butt of her crossbow. "No _silly!_ " she said. "She has a big massive tummy because she is going to have a baby! Father says it will be a little boy and we will call him Caspian after Father's father and your father and the first Caspian and then I shall really be like Isadora with my bow and my brother!"

"You're not like Isadora," Caspian said. " _She_ had a short bow like Queen Susan; I've seen your grandfather with it. And your brother won't be like the first Caspian because he won't have the dirk; that's going to be mine one day."

She glared at him, her lip jutting out. "I _am_ like Isadora," she snarled, stamping her foot again.

Gregoire was looking very confused. "How can eating too much make you have a baby?" he asked.

Isadora's eyes widened. She placed a hand on her hip and gave a world-weary sigh that defied her six years.

"Oh, men," she said in the same manner as her mother and the other ladies of court.

That proved too much for the nurse; who had been watching the whole exchange from a nearby bench. She burst into laughter which caused her three young charges to look round at her in surprise.

"Don't laugh at me!" Isadora exclaimed.

"I'm not laughing at you! I am merely laughing at how wise you are in the ways of the world for one so young," she assured the little girl.

"How do you make babies then?" Gregoire demanded.

"I know, I know!" Isadora said, thrusting a hand into the air. "The mother and the father love each other very much and the father gives the mother a present and she likes the present so much she makes a baby to give back to him as a present from her!"

The nurse chuckled again but nodded sombrely when Isadora glared at her. "How clever you are, my Lady," she said, a small smirk curving around her lips.

"The brightest rose to bloom in the gardens of Telmar!" a new voice boomed. Isadora turned in a swirl of skirts. Her crossbow was flung uncaringly aside with a clatter as she sprinted full into the newcomer's arms with a cry of delight.

"Father!"

The nurse rose from her bench and curtseyed politely.

"My Lord Miraz," she said. "I trust you are well."

"As well as I can be in these dark days," he said, hoisting Isadora up. "But seeing my little dove will always bring some light to my darkest of days.

She giggled and threw her arms tight around his neck.

"How is Mother and the New Baby?" she asked.

"Your mother is doing very well, Turtle Dove," he said. "It would appear that for now your little brother is not wanting to shake the world with his coming."

He set her down.

"Now, I wish to speak to Caspian alone. Nurse, please take Isadora and Gregoire back to their quarters," he said. The nurse nodded and took the two children by the hand.

Halfway along the corridor into the castle, Isadora tore her hand from the nurse's.

"I left my crossbow behind!" she said. "I can't forget it!"

And then, like the naughty child she was, she turned and ran back towards the garden she had just left. The nurse called after her angrily, then sighed and continued to accompany Gregoire back to his room. The little girl was sure to run into her father and the Prince and maybe Lord Miraz would properly discipline his wild and wilful child for once.

In fact, Isadora had remembered at the last moment that Father wanted a private word with Caspian and so had skidded to a halt behind a rose trellis. She was certain that she could not be seen but she could hear Caspian and Father talking clearly.

"...arrangements for your mother. Your quarters will remain the same," her father was saying. "Your proper education shall start soon; I have already begun to consider tutors for you and Isadora."

Urgh, a tutor. She didn't want a tutor. A tutor would keep her cooped up inside with dry, old, dusty books and try to turn her into some dry, old, dusty scholar. She wanted to learn to ride a horse and fire a real bow! She wanted to be outside! She wanted to be like the first Isadora, riding the ancient trade routes of Telmar to the rest of the world!

"...week, we are to take a walk together. I am now your guardian and I want to ensure you are kept safe," Father continued.

"Yes, my Lord," Caspian said, his eyes fixed on the paving slabs beneath their boots.

Her father placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Uncle," he reminded him with a smile that Isadora thought to be dashing, but in reality was quite terse.

"Yes, Uncle. Thank you," her cousin replied dutifully before being sent on his way. Her father lingered for a moment in the garden. She could see the butt of her crossbow sticking out from underneath an azalea bush. If only Father would leave!

"Isadora! Come out this instance!" her father barked. She dutifully shuffled out from behind the trellis. He looked at her with the sharp, dark eyes they shared and waited patiently for an explanation. She scrabbled for the crossbow and turned to face him, a small innocent pout on her face.

"I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I had just forgotten my crossbow," she said.

"I'm sure you didn't hear anything too scandalous," he said gruffly but still held out a hand for her to take. "Come, let us go pay your mother a visit."

She loved her father. She couldn't understand how anyone could not love him; he was kind, he was clever and he was a fantastic warrior. He was just a good a warrior as High King Peter had been, possibly even better, and he was now going to take Caspian into their household too. He was such a wonderful man.

But, ever since she had learned about the New Baby, a growing suspicion had been growing in her mind.

"Father," she said now as they walked along. "When the New Baby comes, are you going to stop loving me as much? Everyone says that boys are much more important than girls."

He stopped and stared at her. "You really think that?" he said in disbelief. She nodded. He crouched down and pulled her onto his knee.

"Your mother and I love you very much," he said, stroking her hair off her face. "We could have fifty sons but you are our firstborn and our only Isadora. For this, you will always have a special place in our hearts."

She still looked unconvinced.

" _Isadora, Turtle Dove,"_ he began, reciting the little rhyme he had invented for her. She grinned and said the last two lines with him.

" _My dearest treasure; my only love."_

* * *

Two weeks later it was announced that Lady Prunaprismia had given birth to a healthy child. A girl, to be named Ghaliya after the beloved and tragically ailing Dowager Queen.

* * *

 **Hello! It has been a while indeed since I posted anything. This began as a horrible little plot bunny since to this day I swear that the crier at the beginning of Prince Caspian shouts _"A son, a son! Lady Prunaprismia has this time given Lord Miraz a son!"_ Which, of course, means a daughter. And since I love messing around with OC tropes in this fandom, I began to follow the idea of "What if this OC does not immediately follow Caspian, like many of the others of her fan-fic sistren. What if she must choose between Miraz and Caspian?" and hey ho, Isadora sprang into being. Also, I have become slightly obsessed with my own head-canon for the Telmarines. **

**This is also heavily movieverse because I really like Sergio Castellitto's portrayal of Miraz. If you do not like the more Spanish Telmarines, then this fic is not for you. Apologies.**

 **If you do like the sound of this, and you would like to see more of Isadora, please give this story a review and a follow/favourite!**

 **Mahoosive thanks to the amazing PopRockShawty who read a bit of this and gave me some feedback. If you haven't read their stuff, please do!**


	3. A Taste of Heartbreak

The years passed and Caspian and Gregoire grew into fine young men ready to serve Narnia. However it was Isadora's development which caused more interest, especially among the young men of the court. She had grown from a pretty child into a gorgeous young woman. She had all the beauty and grace of a true Telmarine woman but her sharp eyes and sharper tongue were her father's and her father's alone.

She still received schooling with Caspian from Dr Cornelius, the tutor her father had procured. Together they were schooled in literacy, mathematics and the history of their great nation. They were also supposed to study astronomy but Isadora refused to climb to the summit of the tallest tower of the castle just to watch a few far away twinkling lights. Her bed was much too comfortable.

Therefore only Caspian made the climb to the astronomy lessons. She asked him if they were interesting and he laughed mildly and told her she would find them dull. Her pursuits were different to his after all.

Very different.

She paused by the door and examined her reflection in a polished shield. She tugged her dress down an extra bit so her breasts swelled invitingly in her bodice and smoothed a few errant pieces of hair behind her ears. Were the red lips overkill? If her mother caught her looking like this again then she would be viciously scrubbed and then stuffed into a dress more suited for Ghaliya. Their mother was due to give them a little brother soon and she was feeling especially tempestuous. Irking Prunaprismia was never wise anyway but - when she was eight months gone, hot, and tired of being pregnant - it wasn't the best idea to annoy her.

To her father she would always be Isadora Turtle Dove but her mother could see past that. Her mother knew she was growing up.

If she moved fast then it would be fine.

She left the safety of the castle and marched across the courtyard with determination. The stables were their usual hustle and bustle of activity but she slipped easily between the horses and the groomsmen. There was her object of desire and he was tending to Destrier, Caspian's horse. Perfect.

"You must be rising fast through the stables' hierarchy if you are allowed to care for our Prince's horse," she said. He turned and looked at her. His eyes slipped down to her momentarily enhanced cleavage and her heart beat a little faster.

Tobias was his name and he was the newest of the stable's staff. He had arrived with the new Lord Oroitz of Ettinsmoor and had quickly attracted the attention of all the younger ladies of the court. Isadora had heard the comments and giggles and she instantly knew that she had to lay a claim on him before anyone else could.

"I am very trustworthy, Lady Isadora," he said with a charming grin. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself grinning like an idiot as he said her name. He knew who she was!

 _Oh, don't be a fawning, lovesick fool, Dor, of course he knows who you are,_ she reminded herself crossly.

She met his suggestive gaze with a coy smile and followed him into an empty stall.

* * *

Almost an hour later, she lurched back into the castle giggling wildly to herself. She paused by the same shield she had previously checked her appearance in and scrutinised herself once again. Well, the red stain on her lips was long gone and her carefully coiffed hair was a mess of tangles. She pulled a piece of straw out and giggled again.

"My goodness, Dor, you look a mess," a voice said from further up the hallway. She turned and pouted playfully as Caspian walked towards her; completely missing the disdain in his eyes.

"Well, don't you sound like my mother," she said. "Am I not allowed to have any fun?"

His eyes slid over her mussed face, her tangled hair and her hay-covered dress. "I think our definitions of fun vary," he said shortly.

She cackled and slung an arm around his neck. "Now, I must ask," she said, "what do you think of Nerea? Because she has been pining for you for some time now and it is really getting quite pathetic. I'd be much obliged if you wrote her a little love-note. Please?"

He glared down at her. "No. I have no feelings for Nerea whatsoever and I'd rather not give her any false hope. I don't like the little courtship games you play with your friends."

She rolled her eyes and retrieved her arm. "By the Eagle, Caspian. The stars will fall from the heavens before you fall in love."

"Love?" he said coldly, his eyebrows arching. "What you do, Isadora, can in no way be described as _love_."

The sunny mood Tobias had thrust her in with his passionate kisses and gentle touch vanished in an instant. Why was Caspian being so difficult? He sounded like a parent; not her cousin and closest friend. What next, was he going to tell her how to style her hair and what dress best suited a young girl of noble birth like herself?

"Stop it," she said, marching away. He followed.

"You are lucky your father is the man he is!" he said. "Any other girl would have been remonstrated a long time ago! But you are can do no wrong and he lets you run wild, Turtle Dove!"

She whirled around and hit her hands off his chest like a spoilt child. They did no damage at all; she wasn't that strong and his muscles had been hardened by hours of swordplay and military drills.

"Only... Father... Calls... Me... Turtle... Dove!" she snarled with each punch. Infuriatingly, he merely stood there and let her work out her frustration.

"My point exactly, Dor. You are spoilt and one day you are going to get a nasty shock when something doesn't go your way," he said, almost sadly. She stumbled backwards away from him and drew herself to her full height. The most penetrating glare she had learned from her mother entered her eye and even her dishevelled appearance could not detract from the ferocity of her gaze.

She ruined it by saying in a churlish voice, "Things always go my way."

As Caspian walked off, shaking his head in defeat at her stubbornness, she spun on her heel and stalked to her room.

He was impossible! He was the only boy she could never fool and the only person who dared to speak back to her. She wasn't spoiled; she was beloved by everyone! There was all the difference in the world!

She crossed to the window and rested her head against the glass. Down in the courtyard she espied Tobias leading a horse and she stood on tip-toe so he could stay in her eye-line for a few seconds longer. He stopped and, as if he knew by some sixth sense, turned and looked up at her window. He grinned and she stepped back quickly.

A stupid little smile sprang onto her face and she felt her cheeks grow warm. How peculiar...

* * *

Their little fling lasted some weeks.

Much to her mother's surprise, Isadora suddenly developed a passion for riding and built an early morning ride into her daily routine. Luckily, Prunaprismia was far too along in her pregnancy for her to accompany her daughter and Miraz was much too busy to chaperone her. They insisted that she go with someone and Tobias was more than happy enough to volunteer.

She knew it was silly; she was a lady of the court, granddaughter of Caspian VIII and a descendant of the Bloodline of the Bow. Hers was one of the finest pedigrees one could find and his was nothing. He was, to be blunt, a nobody.

But he made her laugh and he made her smile and he made her heart beat faster than anyone ever had before. When it was just the two of them, he wasn't a servant. He was a friend, he was a lover, and he was an equal.

Even after their morning trysts, she found herself making up excuses and little errands that would keep her in the vicinity of the stables. He filled her every thought. Being apart from him caused an ache in her chest unlike anything she had ever felt before and being with him caused a relief to seep through her and soothe her nerves.

One night, lying in bed and unable to sleep, she decided it was too much to bear. She quietly arose and threw a cloak over her nightgown. Through her family's quarters, down all the twisting stairs, along the moonlit corridors, across the courtyard and up the narrow staircase beside the stables she crept.

Running along the length of the stable's attic were the stablehands' quarters. The younger boys all slept together in a dormitory at the far end of the corridor but the more senior boys and men each had their own private cell. Isadora knew exactly which one belonged to Tobias; tonight was not the first time she had visited. Last time he had met her at the foot of the stairs but she couldn't see a reason why he would turn her away tonight.

A light pooled from underneath his door and, as she neared, she could hear the low murmur of voices. Just as she got close enough to hear them clearly, her foot landed on a loose floorboard.

 _SKREEE!_

She froze; her heart beating wildly.

"What was that?" a female voice said. What? Another girl? Why was another girl in there?

"Probably just someone on the way to use the pot," Tobias' smooth voice reassured. "We're fine. No-one is going to disturb us."

There was a quiet snort.

"You sound like you know what you are talking about. How many girls have you had up here? Has that snobby noble brat you are soft on been up here?" the girl asked.

Isadora's face burned in the darkness. _Brat? Snobby?!_ By the Eagle, was that girl talking about her?

"No, she hasn't," Tobias lied. "She isn't as special as you."

The low smack of lip on lip permeated through the door and she broke out in a cold sweat.

"Not special?" a voice yelled as the door to the cell was thrown open. She blinked and realised it had been her voice that had shouted and it had been she who had thrown open the door.

The two on the narrow bed started and scrambled for a blanket to cover their nakedness. She barely noticed the skinny creature glancing between Tobias and herself with raised eyebrows; all she could focus on was Tobias' face. There was not a shred of guilt there; his face was like a blank mask.

She turned to run but he'd risen from the bed and grabbed her arm.

"Let me go!" she screamed and tried to strike him with her free arm.

"Eagle feathers, Dor, would you calm down," he begged as other doors along the hall opened and the bleary faces of the other stablehands emerged.

"No, no! How dare you!" she screamed and tore her arm from his grasp. "I am not _Dor_ to you."

"Then I think her ladyship might be a bit lost," the other girl said snarkily. "What reason could a well-bred young lady such as yourself have for mingling with us lowly staff?"

Isadora's face burned again as sniggers broke out from the other stablehands. She could have slapped the smirk right off the other girl and then walked out with her head high.

But she didn't.

She burst into tears, turned tail, and ran.

* * *

"Get out!"

There was a thunk as the bolt slammed into the open door. Ghaliya straightened up and fixed her older sister with a withering glare. She was well-practiced at dodging Isadora's crossbow. She knew her sister was actually an excellent shot but all hell would break loose if she actually hurt someone with it.

"I said, get out!" Isadora screamed, rearing up on the bed with the bow in her hands. She began to load a new bolt while Ghaliya stared at her coolly.

"He's betrothed to Jolia now," she said in a sing-song voice. "They are going to buy a farm."

"Out!" her sister roared again and lifted the bow. With a cackle, Ghaliya danced to the side and slammed the door behind her just as the bolt ploughed into the wood again. There was a pause and then a crack appeared in the door.

"He'd never want you anyway, you look such a mess!" her sister sang and Isadora screeched again. The door snapped shut again and she threw herself back on the bed with a wail. The wail turned into a sob and once again she found herself bawling. _Her._ Crying her eyes out over a boy. She had fallen for him, she knew she had, and part of this completely hysterical reaction of hers was because she was angry with herself for allowing herself to fall.

How could he have done that to her? Wasn't she beautiful? Wasn't she enough for him? Why, why, _why?!_

And all the other stable staff knew. They had seen her run away and they had heard her scream at him. What was worse, they were amongst the worst of the gossipers in the entirety of the staff. She also guessed that the wretch he had been canoodling with was a maid so, naturally, all the others knew about it as well. She had sent her own maid away without letting her tidy her room; the girl's smug smirk had been too much for her to bear. Ghastly Ghaliya must have overheard some of them laughing about it as they cleaned the girls' quarters; there was no other way she could possibly have found out.

The door opened again.

"Ghaliya, get out or this time I _will_ aim for your head!" she bawled, her face pressed into her pillow. An icy silence followed.

"I never want to hear you say that again, Isadora," her mother said in an imperious voice. She peeked under her arm.

Her mother, Lady Prunaprismia, was standing in the doorway with an expression that could curdle milk. One hand rested on the door handle and the other under the great swell of her stomach and she looked as beautiful as ever, despite the look on her face.

"I want you to get up, _now_ , and stop this incessant moping. You have been abed for too long," she said crossly.

Isadora sat up and pushed her crossbow aside. Did her mother know?

"I'm sorry, Mother," she said, wiping her red eyes. Her lip wobbled and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. "Oh, Mother, I thought he liked me," she sobbed.

Prunaprismia watched her for a moment and then crossed to the bed and pulled her eldest into a tight embrace.

"So this is what this is about," she said softly. "My Dor's first heartbreak."

They sat for a while, mother holding daughter, until Isadora finally stopped crying. One hand trailed across her mother's belly and she smiled as she felt the baby kick. Her mother groaned.

"Your brother is a fighter like his father yet he is quite happy to make us wait for his arrival," she grunted and shifted on the bed so she was slightly more comfortable. Isadora didn't say anything.

"You know," her mother continued, "I was about your age when my father brought me to court for the first time. After being presented to the King, I stood in the corner and I felt completely lost and overwhelmed; court was very different from our manor house in the south after all. Then from nowhere, your father asked me to dance. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen and I fell deeply in love with him. What I didn't know was that the King had made him dance with me and it was a very long time before I saw my love returned."

Her daughter sniffed. "I didn't know that," she said thickly.

"Maybe I'll tell you more someday, but my point is perhaps there is hope for you and your young man," Prunaprismia added.

"No. He is nobody," Isadora said darkly. "I never want to see him again."

Her mother sighed again and stroked her daughter's hair.

"That, at least, we can do," she said.

* * *

The search for Lady Prunaprismia's missing jewels was quickly ended when General Glozelle found them concealed in the belongings of the stablehand Tobias. He was flogged for his impudence, despite his protesting his innocence, and forced to leave the castle penniless and jobless.

Shortly afterwards, it was announced that the Lady Prunaprismia had delivered her third child. Lord Miraz was now father to a third little girl, Marisela, named for her late paternal grandmother.

* * *

 **AN: So here we are, small jump in time, and the beginnings of Isadora's flings. Tsk tsk. We also have a small introduction to Ghaliya who was only supposed to be a minor character. However, through re-writes she has actually ended up as one of my favourites.**

 **I am considering writing the story of Miraz and Prue, mainly because I have never seen anything on here in the line that I want to follow, but I have three parts to get through first, just of Isadora's arc, and not a great track record with finishing fics, haha!**

 **Thank you to everyone who followed/favourited last chapter, and to HPnarnia1 and Wildhorses1492 for reviewing! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, guys!**


	4. Not a Princess

"...cannot compare. Your eyes are purest onyx, your hair a river of shadow to hide our love..."

Isadora sighed and opened her eyes. Her eyes which, at best, were a deep chocolate brown and not purest onyx.

"You are boring me," she said flatly. "Leave."

Her companion looked outraged. "No! You sent all those wheedling love notes, fluttered your eyes at me over your fan at court. You told me my poetry was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard!"

"I lied. I can't abide poetry," she said. She smiled at him mischievously and stood up, ducking out from under the bowyer.

"But... but..." he stammered.

"But... but..." she mocked. "But I was lying. You are new at court and vaguely attractive. I wanted to be the first to try you out."

He flushed heavily. "I'll tell your father!" he snarled. Her eyes opened wide and she clapped a hand to her mouth.

"Oh no, no, please don't tell my father!" she wailed. A muscle twitched in her cheek and then she was doubled over giggling. "Run along, little boy," she said, pulling him in close as if she was about to kiss him again, "and accept that nothing more is ever going to happen between us."

She placed her hands flat on his chest and pushed him away with a throaty chuckle before turning and leaving him standing flabbergasted by the tree.

Poets were so whiny. Since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Of-The-Stables, she'd dabbled with other courtesans, an ambassador's son and countless others. Poets were definitely the worst. They all thought they were walking gods and the greatest artists ever to have lived. It was fun to string them along and then drop them mercilessly, as she had just done, but a small part of her was beginning to feel guilty. She was playing with other people's hearts after all, exactly like how her heart had been played.

Instead of taking the direct route back to her quarters, she criss-crossed through various corridors and hallways throughout the castle. Eventually, she arrived in the corridor where some of the Lords kept small offices. She liked this corridor because it had a floor of black and white chequered tiles. She stepped on one of the tiles and then hopped to another. In a moment, she was suddenly a child again; playing with Caspian and Gregoire.

As she came level with the room her father occupied, she heard voices talking and she stopped to listen.

Eavesdropping was definitely the worst of her habits.

In the room were her father and her mother's father, Lord Scythley. She could also just see Lord Sopespian sitting in the corner; his hands resting on his lap and his eyes twinkling with his usual mischief.

"...have nothing. You are a second son, Miraz," her grandfather was saying coldly. "You only gained a seat upon the Council with your made-up Lord Protecter role. The second the Crown is set upon Caspian's head, you will have nothing!"

"I am your heir!" her father spat but her grandfather laughed heartlessly.

"No, you are not. You are not my blood. Only a son of yours can inherit my Lordship and the Bow, and if you and Prue have no sons then it shall be Isadora's son who inherits them," he said.

"Or even Isadora herself, like the Lady Isadora of Old," Sopespian suggested from his corner.

"Be quiet, Sopespian," Scythley snarled.

From where she was standing, she saw Sopespian's face darken. "You have always been far too concerned with the Weapons, Scythley. We aren't Merchant Lords any longer; the world has changed."

"I am concerned because the Weapons are our past and our heritage!" her grandfather shouted. " _Who shall rule?_ Remember that, Sopespian?! It is a more than a verse we recite in our schooldays!"

"That is _enough_ Lord Scythley. You forget yourself," her father said firmly. There was a scraping noise as her grandfather pushed back his chair and leapt to his feet.

"No, Lord Miraz, you have forgotten _yourself._ May the Eagle take you all," he said and stormed from the room.

His scowl vanished as he saw Isadora lurking in the hallway and he smiled.

"Good afternoon, my darling Dor," he said and stretched an arm out to her. "Come, walk with me a while."

"Grandfather," she said warmly and fondly kissed his cheek. "Where shall we go? The gardens?"

"No, let's just wander," he said. "How is your mother? You must tell her that I am sorry for not seeing her sooner but my work has kept me occupied."

"She is much better. Myself and Ghaliya had tea with her yesterday morning," she said.

Her mother was currently recovering from a miscarriage. It wasn't her first. There were six years between Isadora and Ghaliya and then eight years between Ghaliya and Marisela for a reason. Although all three girls were healthy, Prunaprismia had always found pregnancy extremely difficult.

When she was younger, Isadora thought it was perfectly normal for her mother to become ill every few months. As she aged, and especially after she had begun her own cycle, she began to notice the small changes in her parents that each failed pregnancy brought.

For the first month, her father would become extremely caring and loving. Her mother would smile more and a softness would settle over her features. Then the bad day would come. It would happen anytime; at night - making her father run for the healers in his nightgown – or while she walked in the gardens with the other ladies, or worse when the children were brought to spend some time with her. There would be a lot of panic and worry and then her mother would be reduced to lying pale-faced in bed for days; her beautiful face suddenly far older and more haggard than before.

And then the whole ordeal would begin anew, only this time with a little less light in her mother's eyes, and a little more tightness around her father's mouth.

"That is good," her grandfather said now. "I shall visit her before the week is out."

They passed through a door and came out onto one of the long stretches of wall between the castle keep and the surrounding towers. Isadora loved it out here. One could see all the surrounding countryside for miles in every direction, from the distant hills of the Ettinsmoors to the woods that lay between Beaversdam and Beruna.

They strolled along, happily engaged in the idle gossip of the court.

"And what do you think of Prince Nain? Of Archenland?" Scythley interjected suddenly.

"He's nice," she said, blushing madly. Prince Nain of Archenland, fair of hair and fair of face, had actually been her first kiss many a year ago. It had been on a hot summer evening in the gardens of Anvard while the adults danced inside at a grand ball. The two were now little more than friends but she still blushed to remember the encounter.

"Good, good. Although your father would rather you did not know this, if your mother produces a son in the next few years then a match will likely be sought between yourself and Nain," he said.

She paused.

"And if Mother has another daughter? Or no child at all?" she asked.

"Then no proposal. To Nain, that is," he said shortly.

"Why does who I marry hinge upon whether upon I gain a brother?" she said, her brow furrowing.

"Eagle feathers, Dor, don't you know?" he said crossly. She stared at him blankly, causing him to sigh and lead her on.

He took her, surprisingly, to the Armoury. It was a room she had not spent much time in beyond her childhood age of exploration. Whilst Caspian and Gregoire and the other boys happily spent hours poring over all the weapons, she would grow bored and demand they went elsewhere. She was a little shocked that her grandfather wanted to show her something in here now.

"Haven't you ever wondered why you are not a Princess?" he asked her as he led her between the racks of guard hauberks.

"No, it never occurred to me," she said. "But I suppose I should be. Caspian VIII was my other grandfather. But I've never heard Father be referred to as a _Prince_. Everybody calls him _Lord._ "

"He was a Prince but he had to give up the title when he married your mother," her grandfather said as they reached a set of double doors in the far wall. Isadora had always wondered what lay beyond them for they had always been locked whenever she and the other children had come snooping.

Now, her curiosity would be satisfied. Scythley pulled out two keys that hung on a chain about his neck and turned the larger of them in the lock.

"Why would he have to give up being a Prince?" she asked as he opened the door.

"I will show you," he said and stood aside to let her pass.

She didn't know what she expected. Certainly not the twenty weapon cases lining the walls and the twenty first clutched in the talons of a statue of the Black Eagle directly opposite the door. She moved down the hall slowly; staring at the Weapons. She'd seen them at official events, of course, but she had never been so close to them.

Some were lost and their cases were empty. Some were long lost to history, like the Axe of the Desert Dunes, and others had been taken more recently. She tried not to look at the cases where the Seven Swords should have been held. Why dwell on empty cases and the traitorous thieves who had taken them when she could stare at the embossed sea-green waves on the blades of the Axe of the Ocean's Waves or the tiny mountain ranges along the Hammer of the Mountains.

Scythley was waiting by the weapon case directly to the right of the one held by the Eagle.

"Is that the Bow?" Isadora exclaimed excitedly as he used the other key to unlock the case. He laughed and carefully removed it.

"Yes, it is. The Bow of the first Isadora and mark of the Defenders of the Royal Bloodline," he said, running a hand lovingly down the bow's curve. It was made of a wood so dark it was almost black and embossed with gold. The arrows too were made of the same wood and fletched with golden feathers. The Lord of the Bow was the only one allowed to bear such arrows and they were made by a fletcher in Meadowholt, the town near the Archenland border that her grandfather governed.

"Grandfather, that can't possibly be _the_ Isadora's Bow," she laughed. "She lived thousands of years ago."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Does that tutor of yours not teach you to believe in magic?" he asked, slightly mockingly. "This is the Bow of Isadora. I know it is. I can feel it."

"But what does it have to do with why I am not a Princess?" she asked. He sighed and placed it back inside its case.

"We are descended directly from Isadora, as you know. The Bow and my Lordship however can only pass down the male line and your mother was my only child. Had I son then most likely you would be a Princess. But, alas, the Eagle decided that I would not," he said sadly. "I must now pass my Lordship to a grandson and if I cannot then I must pass it to a great-grandson. It must stay within the Bloodline.

"Your father is descended from the Bloodline of the Dirk – the blood of the First Caspian. However, he was a second son, allowing him to give up all rights to that heritage and marry into another. Dor, it may fall to your son to be the next Defender."

"Why can't I do it? I could be another Isadora?" she asked.

"No, Dor, don't be silly," he said. She must have looked upset because he reached out and stroked her arm comfortingly.

"We shall find you a good match, don't worry, but it won't be Nain," he said. "Either you will be Queen of Archenland, or the mother of the next Lord of the Bow. It is some future ahead for you."

"If Nain will have me," she said playfully.

"Of course he would," Scythley said with a smile. "What man would be mad enough to turn you away?"

He turned away, thus missing her smile falter, and glanced in the weapon case of the Eagle. He sighed heavily.

"Remind me to tell Caspian that the Dirk is not his personal knife and when not needed for official functions it should remain here in the case," he said in a pained voice.

* * *

 **A little backstory for you, mainly to introduce the Weapons and introduce my Telmarine society. :D More shall be coming in later chapters and if you do not understand anything then let me know in a review and I will clarify as best I can.**

 **Also, question for yous, are you good for updating two times a week? I'm worried I'm updating a little too frequently and your opinions would be much appreciated!**

 **As always, leave a review, they really do make my day! :)**


	5. Drinian

"Yeesh," Isadora moaned as she emerged from the companionway. "No. Urk. By the Eagle, why did I agree to this?"

"Because you loved my mother?" Caspian laughed from behind. He laughed harder as she crept out onto the deck and was soaked by sea spray.

Like most Telmarines, Isadora did not do well at sea. Her past few days had been spent in her bunk in her cabin and she had only just felt well enough to venture out onto the deck for the first time. She wouldn't even be on the damn ship in the first place if not for Caspian.

His mother had been half-Galmian and she had been born, raised and buried on the island. Once a year, Caspian made the journey to pay homage to her grave and Isadora had decided to accompany him this time. Her aunt had been very dear to her and a very close friend of her mother's.

Caspian pushed past her and ran for a tangle of rigging. He swung up it with an excited whoop, reminding her greatly of the Terebinthian ambassador's pet monkey.

"Please don't fall overboard!" she yelled at him. He laughed at her and then laughed harder as the ship swelled and she lost her balance.

A strong pair of hands caught her and set her back on her feet as a deep voice said, "Easy there, m'lady!"

It was the first mate. She couldn't remember his name, the nausea had blanked that, but he had a kind face.

Unusually, he also looked like he was completely Telmarine. Telmarines were such a notoriously bad sea-faring race (ironic since they had been pirates in the Old Country) that the majority of their crew were either not Telmarine or mixed race.

"Thank you," she said and sat down gingerly on a nearby crate.

"We should reach the Island by evening," he told her.

"Good. I don't think I can bear another night being tossed in this tub," she moaned. "No offence."

"None taken; this is not my ship," he grinned. "Don't let the captain hear you though."

She laughed. "Remind me of your name, please?" she said. "I'm usually good with names but my sea-sickness has muddled everything."

"Drinian," he said.

"Pleased to meet you, son!" she laughed. He looked confused. "Don't you know the story of the first Caspian and Isadora? Drinian was the name of Isadora's son."

Understanding, he laughed too. "By the Eagle, I haven't heard that story since I was a lad!" he chuckled. "And I think I am a little too old and you a little too young for us to be mother and son."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, tilting her head back. "Look at you, you clearly have my chin."

As they were laughing, another one of the crew slouched past. Isadora's laughter died in her throat as he shot her and Drinian the filthiest of looks. He was a Calormene and he had made her feel uncomfortable since the minute she had arrived onboard. Maybe it was slightly wrong of her but something about his greasy skin and little, piggy eyes unnerved her.

She especially disliked the way he looked at Caspian. The uncomfortable sensation in her stomach would twist and tighten every time he looked in her cousin's direction. He was doing it now; pretending to coil a rope as he stared overhead at the Prince swinging through the rigging.

"Hoi," Drinian snapped at him. "Report to the quartermaster if you have nothing to do. I want a complete inventory of our stores and a list of all that needs restocked when we reach Galma."

The Calormene glared at them once again but dumped the rope on the deck and slunk off.

"The Captain was a fool to take him on," Drinian muttered under his breath. He clearly didn't expect Isadora to hear him.

"Why?" she asked and he looked guilty for a moment.

"I shouldn't speak ill of my captain's decisions," he said slowly.

She winked and leaned in close to him. "Oh, come on, son. Tell your old mother."

He laughed again and then hesitated. "He joined us when we were last docked in Tashbaan. He claimed to have worked on a ship before but I've never seen a shoddier sailor," he said. "Even our dear Prince has better sea-legs."

As if he had overheard them, Caspian slid down a rope and landed neatly beside them.

"Quite finished?" Isadora asked coolly.

"No, I am merely resting," he replied, stretching theatrically. "Have you finished being a seasick little bore?"

"Oh you charmer. I've been spending some quality time with my son here," she said.

"Drinian, what is my lovely cousin blithering about?" Caspian asked.

"I believe the lady is referring to how I share the name of the son of her namesake," the sailor explained drily.

"Dor, that story again? You are obsessed!" Caspian sighed.

"No more obsessed than you are over your precious astronomy lessons with Dr Cornelius," she snapped back.

"I'll be taking m' leave, if it pleases you," Drinian interjected awkwardly as the cousins stared each other down. Isadora broke her eye contact with Caspian as the sailor stood and walked away.

"A seasick little bore?" she sniffed. "I don't like ships; you know I don't. I can't help getting ill."

She had, admittedly, been slightly over-dramatic about it. Any time Caspian or one of the crew had approached her cabin, she had thrown the blankets over her head and moaned and groaned like the world was ending. Her nausea had also made her appetite vanish which in turn sapped her strength.

"Then why come with me?" Caspian asked. She stared fixatedly out at the blue-grey waves of the sea.

"Mother wanted me to. Since ten years have passed since Aunt Ghaliya died," she said in a tight voice. "And… And I was wondering if Uncle Bern would be there with the others."

He looked at her for a moment and then pulled her into a hug as she began to shake.

Lord Bern and his companions had been the Seven Lords of the Swords. They had been the best friends of Caspian IX and, shortly after his death, a dreadful fight with the other Lords had driven them away to sea - or so Isadora had always been told.

Bern had also been the ward of Lord Scythley when he was a child and he and Prunaprismia had been close enough to be siblings. Isadora only had vague recollections of him; a child's memory of scrabbling at knees and being picked up and twirled around by a man with a laughing face. Yet she knew she had a strong affection for the missing Lord and she was desperate to know his fate.

"I've never seen them when I've visited," Caspian told her now. "If they were here then they must have sailed on."

"Typical Uncle Bern," she said ruefully. "Mother always said he would look for adventure in his soup plate if he thought it was there."

He laughed. "I wish I could have known them. I can vaguely remember them always being around my father and following him like seven shadows."

His arms fell from around her and he stepped back towards the edge of the ship. Her eyes rested on his face as he stared out upon the leagues of ocean in all directions. Suddenly he grinned and gave her one of his best smiles; the easy grin that made her grin too and adore their closeness and that made so many girls at court dream of his affections.

"We'll find them, Dor. When I am King, we'll find them together," he said, his eyes shining with fire.

"And I'll be seasick for every second of the voyage that passes," she said grumpily, causing him to throw back his head again with laughter.

* * *

Upon arrival in Galma. they were swiftly escorted to the Duke's manor and installed in adjoining rooms with views of the Sea. After a small dinner on Caspian's terrace, they retired for the evening and Isadora fell into the deepest and best sleep she'd had since leaving Narnia.

She was roused an hour before dawn by a maid and was told Caspian would be waiting for her. She dressed in the demure black dress her mother had picked out for her and wrapped her old shawl around her head.

Caspian waited for her in the walled garden to the west of the main building.

"Come on," he said as she drew level with him, yawning grumpily. "We need to get up there before the Sun rises."

"One moment," she said and bent down to pick some flowers from the bed next to them.

"Dor, don't. The Duchess is extremely proud of her marigolds; she tends the damn things herself," Caspian warned her.

"She won't notice a few missing," she replied crossly. "Besides, if she finds out that they were put on the grave of the late Queen, do you really think she will complain?"

He cocked an eyebrow but let her clumsily yank some of the flowers up. There was a gate at the far end of the garden and he led her towards it.

"Aren't we taking a guard?" she asked.

"No. No-one is going to disturb us and we'll be on the headland all alone. Why are we going to need a guard?" he replied, opening the gate for her.

"I guess I didn't think that the heir to the throne would be allowed to run around unescorted anymore," she said.

"If we run into any assassins, don't worry, I'll protect you," he said, only slightly mockingly.

She grinned and took his arm.

The Queen's grave lay on the westernmost tip of Galma, as close to Narnia as it was possible to be. The walk there from the Duke's manor was only a short one across a moor and a headland. In the distance, Isadora could see a dark outline against the slowly lightening sky. As they neared, she realised it was a statue of the Queen. She stood on the very precipice of the cliff; her birth island before her and the Sea and the country she had ruled behind her.

They reached her just as the rays of the Sun lit her face and bathed her in a most beautiful rosy glow. Caspian shut his eyes for a moment, his lips moving in a silent prayer. Isadora knelt and placed the stolen bunch of marigolds at her feet. Then, she straightened up and gazed at the stone likeness of her aunt.

This was the woman her sister was named for and, studying Queen Ghaliya's stone features, she felt bad for calling her sister Ghastly all the time. Whoever had sculpted the statue had done a brilliant job. Queen Ghaliya's face was lit by a small, warm smile. She looked as if she was about to take a breath at any moment and, as a breeze swept over the headland, Isadora half-expected her hair or the folds of her dress to move.

Caspian smiled like her, Isadora thought. He definitely favoured his father in appearance but his mannerisms and his kind heart were from his mother.

Or so Isadora presumed. The only memories of her aunt were of a smiling but sickly woman wrapped in shawls and resting on a chaise longue. The statue in front of her was clearly not of Ghaliya at the end of her life but the Ghaliya that Isadora's mother remembered. They had come to be ladies-in-waiting to Caspian VIII's wife Queen Marisela (who Isadora's other sister was named for) and had shared a room and the closest of friendships.

The only disappointing part of the statue was it could never have captured the colour of Ghaliya's hair. As a little girl, Isadora had been fascinated by her aunt's hair.

It was red. Not the sun-kissed ginger or auburns one found in the Lone Islands or Archenland but a deep, dark red like a fine wine. It was a shame that the cold, grey stone couldn't reflect the beauty her hair had held.

An image popped into her head of Caspian with that hair colour. Exactly the same as he was now, but with locks of that fine red instead of his black. A giggle sprang unbidden to her lips.

She tried to stifle it but it slipped out; dreadfully high-pitched and dreadfully inappropriate.

Caspian opened his eyes and looked at her pointedly. She bit the inside of her cheek and glanced down at the posy of marigolds at their feet. Another wave of giggles assaulted her and all she could do was let them tumble out.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, hiccupping. "I was imagining you with your mother's hair colour."

For the smallest of seconds, he looked so disappointed in her. Then the corners of his mouth twitched and he began to laugh. His arms slipped around her shoulders and he pulled her in for a hug as both of them started to howl with laughter. The two of them sank onto the grass in front of Queen Ghaliya's statue and just sat there, half falling into each other as they laughed.

She fished in her sleeve for her handkerchief and dabbed ineffectually at the tears streaming from her eyes.

A shadow fell across the two of them and she looked up, gasping and choking for air. Through her haze of giggles and tears, she saw the Calormene sailor from the ship loom over them. Her eyes cleared as the dawn's rays glinted off the knife in his hand and her laughter turned to a scream.

Without thinking, she threw herself between Caspian and the assassin and pushed her cousin with all her might. Caspian fell backwards into his mother's statue and out of harm's way, leaving Isadora to stare up in terror at the Calormene.

The man's face twisted in disgust. His boot collided with her stomach.

The force sent her sprawling backwards and dangerously close to the cliff edge. She rolled over and watched helplessly as the murderous sailor now turned his attention to the defenceless Caspian. Every fibre of her being screamed at her to get up and throw herself towards them again. She tried to drag herself back but the pain in her stomach twisted and she had to stop.

And suddenly Drinian was there.

He tackled the Calormene to the ground and wrested the knife from his grip. They snarled and wrestled back and forth and there was one dreadful moment when it seemed like the Calormene had the upper hand. Then Drinian managed to plant his feet firmly in the other man's abdomen and sent him flying backwards. He hit the ground, bounced, and tumbled over the cliff onto the rocks below.

"Sire, are you injured?" Drinian gasped, his chest heaving. "I beg your forgiveness. Thank the Eagle that I caught that bastard sneaking off-ship and decided to follow him. You could have both been killed!"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Caspian said, struggling to his feet. "Dor, are you OK?"

"I think I'm alright. He did kick me pretty hard," she whimpered.

Drinian crawled over to her and pulled one of her arms around his neck.

"We'll get you back to the Duke's manor and have a healer check you over," he said, lifting her onto her feet.

"Thank you, Drinian. I won't forget this," Caspian said, moving forward to take Isadora's other side.

"Just doing m' duty, sire," the sailor replied modestly.

"No. When we return to Narnia, I will submit a report to my uncle and the Council and have you properly rewarded. You will be made a Knight of the Realm and given a high-ranking position in the Royal Navy," the Prince insisted.

Isadora rolled her eyes.

"There isn't a Royal Navy, blockhead," she muttered.

"When I'm King, I shall make one then," he countered. "And why did you push me out of the way? You could have been killed, _blockhead!_ How am I supposed to tell your mother that her daughter was attacked in front of her best friend's grave?"

"We won't tell Mother," she said, as if was the simplest thing in the world.

And as for why she had pushed him out of the way? She did not know. Whether it was instinct or reflexes, in that split second when she had reacted all she had known was that she had to protect Caspian. Even if it meant taking the blade for him, she had to stand between him and the attacker.

It made her blood run cold to think of it again.

* * *

 **Nice little bonding scene between Cas and Dor for you. :)**

 **One of the main things I am trying to do in this first part of their story is introduce characters who will have larger, more expanded roles in the later parts. Drinian is one of them, and the next chapter will feature someone as well. Anyone want to take a bet as to who it is?**

 **Also, in the books, it is Prunaprismia who has the red hair and not Caspian's un-named mother. However, since I'm using the more Spanishlike Telmarines of the film and not the more English ones in the book, I decided to give the red hair to the Queen. :)**

 **Thank you for the reviews last chapter and as always, leave me another to let me know how I am getting on!**


	6. A Coronation

Caspian growled under his breath and scooted back and forth on the pew. Isadora eyed him coolly and then turned her attention back to the front of the hall.

"Calm, Cas," she said sweetly. He shot her a filthy look.

"I am baking," he hissed. With a practiced twist of her wrist, she turned her fan and wafted some air in his direction. "Oh, very funny," he snapped.

She smirked and returned to fanning her own face. His discomfort was completely understandable; they were stuffed into their finest clothes on what had to be the hottest day of the year. They were both wearing magnificent creations of black and gold, the national colours of the Telmarines, and such finery meant a doublet and silk shirt for Caspian and a painfully tight corset and full skirt for Isadora.

Also, they were in Archenland. The country lay immediately to the south of Narnia and enjoyed a much warmer climate and hotter summers. Their clothes were also apparently the latest Archenlander fashion. Why they would subject themselves to anything so horrible in such a climate, Isadora did not understand.

They had journeyed to Anvard with a small group of retainers to act as the representatives of Telmar and Narnia at the coronation of King Nain. Caspian had practically been frog-marched to the border by Lord Scythley since, as the Crown Prince, he was expected to be there. It was a perfect opportunity to further the relationship between the thrones of Archenland and Narnia. However, such an event as this meant Caspian had to wear his crown; something Isadora always took great delight in as her royal cousin did not like his crown at all.

Isadora was there on some thinly-veiled excuse of her learning how to behave in a diplomatic situation. It was a load of codswallop - she had realised that as soon as she had been sent for her final fitting of her dress.

It was beautiful and it made her look beautiful. She was certain she had been dressed up like a pretty dolly in the hopes of attracting Nain's attention later. Her grandfather was obviously still hoping for a match between them.

She gazed at the mural behind the throne. It showed the final scene of the Anvard Conflict, a battle that had taken place over one thousand years ago. Dr Cornelius had made her and Caspian study it in their history lessons. The scene depicted the moment Prince Rabadash had been turned into a donkey by the Great Lion, Aslan. If she remembered her tedious architectural history lessons (a lot of poring over blueprints and paintings) then the mural was commissioned by King Ram the Great about forty years after the Conflict. She wondered what the Calormene representatives, seated on the other side of the hall from them, thought of such a blatant jibe at their nation's failure.

"I don't understand why I can't be King," Caspian suddenly said. "I'm nineteen! A whole year older than Nain!"

She shut her eyes. He already knew why and he was not about to take kindly to her explaining it. Again.

"You know you have to be at least twenty-one," she said in a pained voice, "because there are twenty lords of Telmar and you will make the twenty-first. Twenty one is a lucky number."

"Silly custom," he growled, slumping on the pew.

"Well, maybe if the Black Eagle swoops down and says, "Aha, Caspian! You are ready to become King at age nineteen! Forget centuries of tradition!" then you can be crowned," she snapped. "Or better yet, maybe Aslan will appear to bless Nain and then He will bless you too! Now, sit up before you crumple your clothes."

"Don't joke about Aslan when we are surrounded by Archenlanders!" Caspian muttered but sat up a little straighter.

"I don't believe in Aslan, I'll say whatever I please!" she growled back, although quietly so no-one would overhear her. It would be a stunning move on her part to insult an entire nation, especially a nation she could possibly one day rule.

The orchestra at the rear of the hall began to play Archenland's national anthem and a voice called, " _All rise for their majesties, King Nain and his mother, Dowager Queen Delilah!"_

As one, the guests stood and turned expectantly.

The Dowager Queen wore black, as she was still mourning the loss of her husband, but she looked every inch a proud mother as she took her son's arm. Nain was dressed entirely in blue, his golden hair slicked back against his head. As they walked up the aisle towards the golden throne, Isadora couldn't help but think that he looked slightly too serious. His eyes strayed towards her and Caspian as he neared them so she winked and smiled.

His mouth twitched and he bit his lip, trying to retain his composure.

When they reached the front of the room, he led his mother over to her own throne before finally taking a seat in his. The guests gladly sat down too.

He was handed a sceptre and an orb, anointed, and his barons all came traipsing forward to kneel before their new lord and master and kiss his ring. In the audience, Isadora stifled a yawn and fanned herself more fervently. She desperately wished for the ceremony to be over so the banquet and ball could begin. There would be cold drinks there. Refreshments.

Finally, the time came for Nain's vow. The most senior of his barons stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Do you, Nain, of the Royal Line of Archenland, swear to be a just and fair ruler?" he intoned. "Will you honour and uphold your laws, defend your lands, protect your subjects and rule with all the wisdom Aslan has gifted you?"

"I so swear," Nain announced, his voice clearly ringing around the hall. A small child dressed entirely in white shuffled forward, his little face flushed with importance, and offered the golden crown on the blue cushion he was clutching to the Baron. The Baron smiled and lifted the crown to above Nain's head.

"Then, in the name of Aslan, I crown you King Nain of Archenland!" he proclaimed and set the golden crown upon Nain's golden head.

" _Long live King Nain! Long live King Nain!"_ rang to the rafters and the new king finally smiled. His blue eyes found Isadora in the audience and she couldn't help but smile too.

* * *

A few hours later and the coronation ball was in full swing. Her thirst quenched long ago, Isadora was now pursuing a different sort of thirst. She had started with dancing exclusively with Caspian – a sure-fire way to attract all sorts of attention. She was dressed like a princess, so much finer than any of the Archenlander girls, and she stood out.

In a break between dances, she found herself beside the grand double doors that led out onto the terrace. Even from here, she could see the flowering bush under which a young girl and boy had once met while another party danced away inside.

"Reminiscing?" a voice said quietly beside her.

She turned and smiled at the new King of Archenland.

"Just thinking about another party we attended," she said.

He too looked out into the gardens of Anvard and grinned as he saw the bush.

"It would be entirely more scandalous if we were found under the shrubbery at _this_ party," he murmured, a wicked glint in his eye.

She gasped in a mock display of horror.

"Your Majesty! How dare you suggest such a thing!" she said coyly. "I would never put myself in such a situation!"

"Forgive me, my lady, for daring to impugn your honour," he replied, bowing with a twirl of his hand.

She laughed and took his arm as the band struck up again.

"Let's go dance! This is a fun one!"

* * *

Across the room, Queen Delilah watched as Isadora slipped her arm through Nain's. The Dowager Queen narrowed her eyes as the Telmarine girl pulled her son across the ballroom to the very centre of the dance floor. She downed the rest of her goblet and then swept across to where the Telmarine Crown Prince was engaged in a conversation with one of her nobles.

"Dear Caspian," she said, as she drew level with them. "I must confess to being slightly disappointed when we received your acknowledgement of our invitations. Only yourself and your charming cousin? Where are her parents? I was looking forward to catching up with Lady Prunaprismia."

Her nobleman recognised her signal and moved away with a muttered apology. Caspian watched him go with slightly doleful eyes and then turned his full attention to Delilah.

"My Aunt finds herself with child again and, given her history, she and Lord Miraz do not want to travel any great distance," he explained.

"Oh yes, poor thing," Delilah said in a manner that suggested she did not really think of Lady Prunaprismia as _poor_ anything. "I must send her some flowers. And I must also admit to a certain curiosity I possess. What do you think of Lord Scythley's scheme to marry his granddaughter to my son?"

Caspian, who had been halfway through a sip of wine, choked and started spluttering. Delilah watched him coolly as he coughed.

"I wasn't aware of any such plans," he coughed out eventually.

"Well, you should! You will be her king one day and her marriage is as much your business as it is her parents'!" she exclaimed. Her lips pursed and she turned her body so she was fully facing the Telmarine Prince.

"And I want it known," she said quietly, "that I do not think Isadora is suitable for my son."

Caspian did not meet her piercing gaze. He instead swirled his goblet of wine and stared at the red liquid inside as he tried to think of a reply.

"And why not?" he asked.

Delilah scoffed. "Just look at her! Her parents have failed to give her the proper education of a lady of her rank! Her mother was trained properly in the court of your grandmother, Queen Marisela, but there is currently no queen in Narnia and no opportunity for her to receive training as a lady."

Caspian looked across the ballroom to where Isadora still danced with Nain. He knew his cousin could be a little rough around the edges some of the time but she had behaved impeccably so far during their time in Archenland.

"If you find her a little lacking in refinement, perhaps it could be arranged for her to join your court?" he said stiffly.

The Dowager Queen laughed airily. "And have her around Nain every hour of the day? I think not; she would too soon lead him astray," she said grimly.

"How?" Caspian asked, his voice tight.

"Oh really, Caspian?" Delilah said with a roll of her eyes. "I thought the worst kept secret of your court was that she lost her maidenhead to a stablehand!"

"That is enough, Delilah!" Caspian said. The Queen looked outraged and shocked at his exclamation but he refused to let her have another word.

"If Lord Scythley wishes to make a match between Isadora and Nain, it shall be a matter for him, Nain, Lord Miraz and myself to discuss. I will endeavour to make sure _you_ have no say in it whatsoever. Now, please excuse me, your Majesty," he snapped.

* * *

"I see your mother has cornered Caspian," Isadora said.

Nain looked across the room and winced as he saw the pair of them glowering at each other.

"It doesn't seem to be going well; Mother looks like she has swallowed a lemon," he said. "Oh, and now Caspian has stormed off. Care to divide and conquer before we have an international incident?"

"And just when I was enjoying myself," she sighed but dropped his hands and set off in the direction her cousin had vanished in.

He was out by the Calormen water gardens. She knew he would be there. The water gardens were a wonderful and peaceful cluster of fountains and exotic plants hidden amongst the terraces and courtyards of the gardens. Whenever they had visited Anvard as children, they had always played here with Nain. It was the only place where they felt truly relaxed within the walls of the Archenlander palace.

She could see Caspian at the far end of the gardens as she entered through the gates. He had discarded his shoes and hose to trail his feet in the water of his favourite fountain. It depicted a naiad with one hand stretched in the air. The jets were cleverly concealed so one fountained from her hand and the others waterfalled across her body like a dress.

He hadn't noticed the gaggle of Archenlander noble girls standing nearby. Isadora, approaching from behind however, did notice them. They were holding a whispered discussion about which of them was going to go over and say hello to the eligible Prince.

Isadora cleared her throat and the girls' heads whipped around. She raised her eyebrows at them and folded her arms. They took the hint and scuttled off back towards the palace in a rustle of dresses.

He didn't look around as she rustled over to him. She kicked off her own shoes and tried to sit on the edge of the fountain to peel off her stockings. However, the layers of her skirt meant she had been able to sit on the pews but she was unable to bend enough to get down to the low edge of the fountain and she was left squatting awkwardly in mid-air.

"Um, Cas?" she said. "A hand?"

Now he looked around and cracked a grin at the spectacle. "You can't stop getting into a mess, can you, Dor?" he said but stood up to help her down. She leant forward to try to reach her feet but was brought up short by the tight corset.

"I hate this thing," she snarled. "I'm never wearing it again."

"Oh shame. I was hoping to see you in it at lessons next week," he said lightly. She glared at him and then looked down and trailed her fingers in the water.

"So it looked like you and Delilah had an interesting conversation," she said.

He didn't answer her. Instead he climbed into the fountain and waded over dangerously close to the statue.

"Caspian?" Isadora said as he ran a hand through the waterfall.

"It really isn't any of your business, Dor," he said, still not looking at her. "It was a private conversation and I'd rather not repeat what she said."

"You don't have to defend me, you know," she said quietly. "I know what they say about me behind my back."

She had always known. Although her parents had never remonstrated her for her behaviour, she had been receiving side-long glances and overhear whispered insults for most of her adolescence. It had never particularly fazed her but it bothered her that Caspian might be affected by it.

"I wasn't defending you," he said. "I don't care what you get up to."

She didn't quite believe him.

"Of course. Just as long as they are talking about me and not you," she said. Now he looked at her and he smiled, almost sadly.

"Come on. We should get back to the party," he said and waded back to the edge of the fountain.

She tried to get up and was once again hindered by the tight corset of her dress.

"Another hand?" she begged, holding up her hands like a child. He grinned and hauled her back onto her feet.

"You may hate that dress, cousin, but it has one advantage," he said, his dark eyes flashing mischievously.

"And that is?" she asked as she found her shoes.

"In that, you won't be able to disappear under bushes with Nain again!"

"Oh, piss off."

* * *

 **Remember how Caspian said that his aunt was with child again and so could not attend the coronation? Any guesses as to who that might be? :D**

 **Several things, firstly, if you are at all interested in face claims, then a list can be found on my profile page. I will update it as more OCs appear (although I think there is only one more still to appear in _Ashes.)_**

 **Secondly, with the publication of this chapter, I will have uploaded over 250,000 words to this website! I can't quite believe it!  
**

 **As always, leave me a review telling me what you think and I shall see you in the next chapter...**


	7. It Begins

Isadora dunked the cloth in the bowl and wrung it out quickly. She turned and pressed it to her mother's forehead.

"You are doing well, my lady," the chief midwife said from her position at the foot of the bed.

"Do you hear that, Mother?" Isadora said brightly. Her mother's grip tightened around her fingers as another contraction gripped her. As Prunaprismia's screams tore through the night air, her eldest daughter shut her eyes and tried not to tremble.

She hated seeing her mother like this. Her beautiful, kind mother who was simply the strongest woman in the castle in body and spirit looked so pale and frail on her birthing bed. Her head cradled against Isadora's shoulder and her daughter stroked her hair comfortingly.

This would be her mother's final pregnancy. Since Marisela's birth three years ago, her mother had struggled to give her father the son he desired. He loved his three daughters irrevocably but he wanted a son; he wanted an heir.

It was Lady Prunaprismia's final chance.

Isadora knew her parents loved each other deeply; always had and always would. It still didn't stop the little voices in the back of her mind that whispered that Miraz would divorce her mother or he would take a mistress and father a bastard he would try to legitimise.

As her mother gave a final cry and pushed with all her might, Isadora prayed to the Black Eagle for a brother. Please, oh please, could her final sibling be a boy…

Her mother relaxed in her arms as the cries of a newborn baby bleated. A tiny bundle was passed forward and her mother gratefully accepted it and dug through the blankets. She sighed happily and held the child out so Isadora could see.

"A boy," Isadora breathed, her eyes shining.

"A boy!" her mother agreed as she lay back against her pillows, the baby cradled against her cheek. "Oh, at long last we have a boy."

She began to cry softly as the baby was taken away to be washed.

"A boy! Oh, Dor, finally!" she sobbed. Isadora began to cry too and the two of them embraced tightly.

The baby was brought back, all clean and wrapped in a white blanket, and Prunaprismia gladly took him back. Isadora, now hiccuping through her tears, quickly wiped her slowly reddening cheeks, and leaned forward to stare at her new baby brother.

She had not been particularly fussed about either of her sisters' births (Ghaliya especially had been this red-faced mewling thing that screamed too loudly for her six-year-old ears) but he was different. She could already see that he was the most important child in the whole of Narnia and her heart swelled with love for him.

* * *

She met her father in their family's quarters in a tight embrace.

"Oh Father, he is so beautiful," she breathed. He stepped back and cupped her cheek lovingly.

"A true Lord of Telmar?" he asked.

"The strongest ever seen," she replied with a grin. He laughed and hugged her again.

"You have done well tonight, my Turtle Dove. Go now and get some rest and I shall finally meet my son," he said, stroking her hair off her face.

She smiled as he walked off.

"Is it true?" Ghaliya said from behind her. "Have we a brother?"

"Yes. Finally," she said.

Her sister emerged slowly from her room, a small look of wonder on her face.

"We have a brother?" she said as if she did not quite believe it. Tears slipped down her face and she choked out a sob. "Dor, we have a brother!"

"I know! I know," Isadora cried, fresh tears also falling down her face.

The sisters hugged tightly. It was a rare occasion for Miraz's daughters to get along - they were rather infamous for their fights and spats. Perhaps the birth of this son would do more than bring peace to his parents; maybe he would also bring his sisters' war to an end.

"I'm going to go see him," Ghaliya said, breaking off the hug. She wiped the tears away from her face before hurrying off towards their mother's room.

Isadora took a moment to compose herself. She wondered if she should awaken Marisela to tell her the joyous news. The she remembered that Marisela was only three and would probably not even understand the implications of the arrival of their brother's arrival.

There was a crack from outside and the corridor was suddenly bathed in red. She gave a cry of delight and rushed to the window.

Fireworks!

The colours were incredible. Isadora had only seen fireworks once before at some festival commemorating the Telmarines' arrival in Narnia. Fireworks were expensive. They were crafted by the Calormene alchemists deep in the South and then they had to be carefully transported by sea to reach them. This would show everyone how important her brother was. How loved he already was.

Where was Caspian? He really should be celebrating the birth of his new cousin.

Tonight was one of the nights when he would have been studying astronomy with Dr Cornelius but she thought that the fireworks would interrupt that. Mostly likely he would still be in bed. She would go and get him. He had to see these fireworks. He understood how much her family had wanted and hoped for a son.

She hurried through the castle to his chambers and burst through the door, as was her custom.

"Come on, Caspian! How could you possibly sleep through..."

Her voice faltered and died as she saw the carnage that had once been Caspian's room. The drapes around his bed had been torn to shreds by something and feathers from his bedding were caught everywhere.

She took a couple of tentative steps forward into the mess. Caspian's personal effects were gone. She had been in his room so many times that she knew it as well as her own. She knew where each thing belonged whether the room was turned upside down or as clean as could be and she could tell in an instant that something was wrong.

The room illuminated red as another firework exploded outside the windows and she lifted up one of the curtains that dangled limply against the bed-frame. Something had slashed clean through it leaving a hole wide enough for her to put her hand through. She dropped her gaze to the bed.

It had been slept in but was now empty. No blood splattered the sheets.

What had happened to Caspian?

"My lady?" a quiet voice said from behind her and she spun around.

"Cornelius!" she exclaimed. "What happened here; where is Caspian?"

Her tutor moved forward and joined her in the mess. "Caspian is gone," he told her and her stomach gave a terrible lurch. Gone? How could he be gone?

"As I understand it, when General Glozelle delivered the news of your brother's birth our Prince flew into a terrible and inexplicable rage. He destroyed his room and then vanished into the night. Glozelle and his men have gone to retrieve him," Cornelius was saying.

Another firecracker exploded and bathed the room in red again.

Isadora's eyes narrowed. There was something hidden in her teacher's face. He was keeping something from her and she did not know what.

Why was Glozelle implicated in all of this? He was a soldier and a minor Lord; not a messenger. Something was off and she could not quite grasp what exactly what it was.

It must be because of Cornelius. How she hated beards. Not shorter ones like her father bore proudly but stupidly long ones like the old tutor's. How was anyone supposed to see what one was thinking if their expression was hidden behind masses of bushy hair! She wanted to fetch a pair of scissors and slice his beard off right here and now! Let's see how evasive he could be then!

"I don't believe you," she said quietly. "Caspian is one of the kindest and calmest people I know. Why would he be pushed over the edge by my brother, a babe not even an hour old?"

"People do the strangest things when they feel threatened, my lady," her tutor replied mildly and turned to leave. She stared after him, even more confused.

Why would Caspian feel threatened by her baby brother?

* * *

 **So we are finally into the action of _Prince Caspian._ Damn, Cas, just run off and leave Dor behind, how could you?**

 **A bit of a shorter chapter but I hope it was as good as the others. Please leave a review telling me what you think! Every one makes me smile!**


	8. Worry

Isadora sat on the balustrade of the balcony overlooking the main courtyard. It was a favoured spot of hers for contemplation, allowing her mind to run free whilst her eyes were occupied by the hustle and bustle of the castle below. Where was Caspian? She simply refused to believe Cornelius' story; it was completely out of character for her cousin to react in that way.

She agreed with the tutor when he said that people did stupid things when threatened, after all she had made _plenty_ of mistakes when someone had intimidated her, but Caspian would never fly into a rage because of a baby. Nothing made sense at all.

"Turtle Dove, get down before you fall down," her father said sternly from behind her. She tipped her head back to look at him and chuckled.

"I never fall," she replied but still swung her legs back over the balustrade. She smiled as she saw the bundle in Miraz's arms and rushed forward to take her brother.

"Dor, be careful," Miraz remonstrated as she swept away with the baby. She laughed again and rearranged her arms so she could comfortably support her brother and lean against the balustrade.

"I'm perfectly safe with him, Father," she said playfully. "It is you who needs to be more careful; you looked like you were holding a lit firework when you came out _and_ you nearly dropped Marisela when you presented her to the court, remember?"

She peeked through her eyelashes at him and smirked as he shifted uncomfortably.

"Come here," she said and held out the baby. He joined her by the balustrade and she arranged her brother in his arms. "There, he's secure now," she said, stroking his little head.

"Isadora, this is my fourth child. I know how to hold a baby," Miraz said stiffly.

"Of course you do, Father," she replied sweetly.

The baby's eyes opened and focused up at them. He had a sharp gaze for one so young; the clever, dark gaze of a true Telmarine. He peered furiously at the pair of them and then his little red mouth opened and a tiny grizzle slipped out. Miraz rocked him gently and, although he still looked livid, he settled down again.

"Is it true what they are saying about Caspian?" Isadora asked in a quiet voice, her fingers still trailing across her brother's head. "Why would he run? It makes no sense to me."

"People are not always what they seem, Turtle Dove," he replied, his eyes lifting to hers.

"But I know Caspian as well as I know you! You showed him nothing but kindness and he was like a son to you!" she said. A thought occurred to her. "You don't suppose it was a fit of jealousy? Maybe he felt like he would no longer be your son... Maybe that is why he destroyed his room and ran..."

"Yes. That will be why," Miraz said and she picked up an odd tightness in his voice.

Her heart sunk a little to hear it. Caspian had really hurt her father, she could tell. How could he possibly find it in himself to betray them like that? And where was he? She was so worried for him. For all they knew, he could be lying under a pile of leaves in the Western Woods with his head bashed in. She hoped that Glozelle would be able to find him and bring him back to his family and back to safety.

This was all just a horrible misunderstanding. As soon as he met his newest cousin, he would love the tiny baby as much as everyone else.

"Showing your son the kingdom?" a voice said from behind them. They turned to see Prunaprismia standing in the doorway, a small smile on her face as she watched her husband, her youngest and her eldest.

"Just getting some air," Miraz replied with a smile. "But you are right, he should see his country."

He lifted the baby up with a playful growl which turned into a bark of laughter as his son gave another squeak of anger at being disturbed. Prunaprismia rushed forward to check them both and angrily chastised her husband for being so careless. It made Isadora smile to see them with their son in their arms, at long last, and with a peace on their faces she had not seen in years.

Below them, a group of guards on horseback clattered into the courtyard. Her father looked down, frowned, and then handed the baby to Prunaprismia.

"Excuse me, my dears," he said and swiftly marched away.

As her mother watched him go, Isadora leant over the balcony to see what he had seen. The leader of the little group of horsemen was Glozelle. Maybe he had news about Caspian...

"Excuse me, Mother," she said quickly and pecked both Prunaprismia and the baby before running after Miraz.

By the time she had run down to the courtyard, the guards had vanished into the stables with their horses.

She followed them into the stables and ducked between the soldiers and the horses. She could see her father and Glozelle in deep discussion at the far end. Her father had his back to her but she could see the General's face. He looked worried and far more drawn than she had ever seen him before.

As she walked closer, her eyes slid to Glozelle's horse. Then she saw it.

A cloak had been wrapped around something draped over the rump of Glozelle's horse. Something that looked an awful lot like a body.

"Caspian?" she said in a small voice. Panic rose within her.

"Caspian!"

She was running, sprinting for the body on the horse, ready to yank back the cloak's hood and see the familiar dark hair. And then suddenly her father was there. He caught her in his arms and held her close as she struggled against him, screaming Caspian's name.

"Dor! Dor! Listen to me" he said calmly as she struck him and fought to get past. "Turtle Dove! _Isadora!"_

She froze, her eyes wide and tearful and her lip trembling.

"Is it him? Is it Caspian?" she sobbed.

"No, it is something worse," he said darkly. She looked blank. He nodded to Glozelle and the General pulled the hood up.

She gasped and recoiled away. Whatever it was, it was an abomination. The body looked small and squat and she couldn't see the face beneath the masses of disgusting, matted orange hair. What was it? She had never seen anything so horrible.

"It would appear that there is slightly more to our Prince's disappearance than just a little familiar jealousy," Miraz said.

She failed to see the look exchanged between her father and Glozelle.

* * *

 **A shorter chapter, but it says everything it needs to. :) The chapters this week will be slightly delayed since I am in Reading Week at uni and I have essays to write.**

 **Thank you for the reviews and follows last chapter! As always, let me know what you are thinking!**


	9. Investigations by the Aviary

"Dor! Dor!" Marisela's piping voice squealed from behind the door. There was the tiny scratching of little nails against the wood and the small thump of a boot being kicked futilely against the door.

"Dooooor!" her baby sister moaned again. Isadora rolled her eyes and returned to polishing her crossbow butt.

From the other side of the door came a bang and then the slow, grizzling cry of an injured toddler. Isadora swore and thrust the crossbow aside. She ran for the door and yanked it open, ready to deal with whatever blood or bruises awaited her.

Marisela smiled up at her. She was completely unmarked and Isadora swore again as she realised it had been a ploy to grab the attention of her older sister. For a three-year-old, she was remarkably cunning.

"Bad word, Dor!" Marisela gasped, her eyes becoming round. Isadora crouched down and leant forward so their noses were touching.

"I won't tell if you won't tell," she said and Marisela giggled madly.

"Take me to see the funny man!" she said happily and tugged at her older sister's sleeve. "Wanna see the funny man!"

"Glozzy will be busy," Isadora said firmly, using her sister's pet name for Glozelle. Marisela's baby-tongue still struggled with difficult names and her beloved "Glozzy" was just one recipient of the many nicknames she bestowed upon various people in the castle.

Marisela pouted and pulled harder on Isadora's sleeve.

"Not Glozzy! The little funny man he found in the woods!"

Isadora tried to repress the shiver that ran down her spine as she remembered the ugly little creature draped across the back of Glozelle's horse. She pushed the loose mass of her sister's curls back from the cherubic face.

"Marisela, how do you know about that?" she asked.

"Everyone knows," Ghaliya said, sliding out of her own room opposite. She leant against the wall and watched them through narrowed eyes. "You really think they can sneak a Dwarf in without anyone finding out, Isadora? The entirety of the stable staff saw it and you know that they can't keep secrets."

She smirked at her older sister, who flushed heavily.

Marisela was now swaying happily backwards and forwards on her tiny boots, her clever fingers somehow knotting Isadora's sleeve together so tightly that it dug into her wrist. Isadora winced to think what the head washerwoman would say when she saw it.

"Is it really a Dwarf? Or is it just a little man?" Marisela said.

"It's a freak," Isadora replied. "Dwarfs don't exist anymore. They've all been dead for years."

Ghaliya chuckled to herself and Isadora glared at her. "Yes, they really look dead," her sister laughed. "That thing in the dungeon perfectly matches the description of a Red Dwarf in Dr Cornelius' old books. Father thinks they have been in hiding and growing in strength and then they will try and take Narnia back."

As Isadora wondered where she possibly could have heard such a thing, Marisela squealed and ran to Ghaliya, now tugging on her other sister's sleeves. "Let's go ask him! I bet we can make him talk!"

The three-year-old spun round with a happy shriek and toddled off down the hall at an alarming rate. Ghaliya smirked once again at Isadora and followed their younger sister off into the bowels of the castle. With a muttered curse and a flick of her eyes skyward, she followed her sisters.

She finally caught up with them in the anteroom of the jail. It served as a small office for the jailer and his assistant; barely enough room for each of their desks and the great rack of keys before one was met with the great door that led down into the jail in the bowels of the castle.

Luckily for them, the jailer was currently away from his post. Everybody in the castle, except possibly some of the high-ranking Lords, feared the jailer. He towered over everyone, almost as wide as he was tall, and a day-old fug of sweat and alcohol followed behind him like the world's most disgusting perfume.

However, only his assistant was in the office today. He was watching Marisela with some amusement as the little girl stood her ground, her hands on her hips and her nose tilted in the air.

"I am helping!" she was telling him, her voice ringing with the authority of a small child who thinks they are right. "I want to see the funny man! You let me see him or I will tell Father!"

"I am sorry, my lady, but I have my orders. No-one is to see the prisoner," he said.

Marisela narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth again. Ghaliya and Isadora exchanged a panicked look; they were well-versed in Marisela's tantrum routine and she was gearing up to let rip.

"Please, Benigno," Isadora said quickly. "We're just curious. Give us five minutes, can't you?"

She smiled and tipped her head to one side. Benigno flushed slightly.

"Fine, but only five minutes," he agreed. "My master will be back soon and he will tan my hide if he catches you in there."

He turned and opened the door for them. Marisela cheered and ran forward into the blackness of the jail. Benigno smiled at Isadora as he headed past her and Ghaliya to watch for the jailer's return.

"By the Eagle, you'll flirt with anything, won't you?" Ghaliya noted as she followed after their little sister.

"That, my dear sister, was not flirting. Something you may learn one day if you ever stop being quite so Ghastly," she snapped back.

Now however was not the time for one of their sisterly spats. They found Marisela by one of the cells. Her little hands were wrapped firmly around the bars of the cell and she was pressed up against them as close as possible

"Excuse you, I am very important," she was saying to the cell's occupant. "You must tell me everytin' or I tell Father."

"Marisela, not so close," Ghaliya chided, crouching down so she could pull the little girl back and trap her in her arms. Marisela moaned and squirmed against her.

"You can let her go. I ain't movin'," a gruff voice said from inside the cell.

Ghaliya did not let her little sister go, her eyes staying locked on the prisoner. Isadora took a few tentative steps forward until she could see into the cell clearly.

It was exactly the same as all the others; a dark little room of the bare, grey stone walls of the castle. Up the wall, higher than any man could hope to reach, was a tiny grate that faced out onto the outside world. It let in the tiniest amount of light and fresh air. The stone floor was scattered with straw and the only furniture in the little cell was a bucket for the prisoner's waste and a low and extremely uncomfortable-looking cot.

Huddled on the cot was the prisoner. It (or was it supposed to be a he?) looked awful. Purple and black bruises were rising all across his face and blood had matted into that horrible orange hair. He was watching the three of them with a sort of lazy disinterest. Isadora found his little dark stare extremely unnerving and she exchanged a worried glance with Ghaliya before the latter released Marisela.

"So," the little girl said, addressing the prisoner again. She planted her hands firmly on her hips and pouted at him. "You tell us everytin' right now or I go get Father."

"That frightens me to my very bones," he replied. "Who is this fearsome father?"

"Lord Miraz, duh," Marisela said with a shake of her head.

The prisoner shifted on his bunk, his eyes flicking from sister to sister.

"You're suppos' t'be dead," Marisela told him, her eyes narrowing.

He chuckled darkly. "Forgive me, my lady, for disappointing you," he said. He stood on the damp mattress and gave a theatrical bow which caused Marisela to giggle with delight. "My name is Trumpkin, and I am a Son of Earth. Might I know my lady's name?"

"I am Marisela and I am named after Father's mother and that is Ghaliya and she is named after Caspian's mother and that is Isadora and she is named after some dead lady," she informed him before her sisters could stop her.

"Technically we are all named after dead ladies," Ghaliya noted. Isadora bit her bottom lip, not sure whether to laugh or cry. To think one could condense all the weight and power behind her namesake, all the stories of her adventures, down to merely describing her as "some dead lady".

"Do you want your stuff back?" Marisela was asking him. "Ghaliya said you wanted your stuff back. You can't have it; it belongs to us now."

"How unfortunate. Not even if I ask nicely?" he asked and cracked a smile as she firmly shook her head.

"And what about Caspian? I heard what Father said," Ghaliya asked him quietly. Isadora spun around to stare at her and then turned back to Trumpkin. What? Did the Dwarf have something to do with Caspian.

"I don't know anything about a Caspian," he said, resuming his huddled position on the cot. "I was visiting a friend when one of your lot came off his horse outside. I rushed to distract the other Telmarines so they would not discover my friend's home. Our other friend took care of the boy."

"Ghaliya, take Marisela out. She's heard enough," Isadora said.

"I don't wanna!" their little sister screeched before being silenced by a well-practiced glare Isadora had learned from their mother. She allowed Ghaliya to lead her from the jail, though her bottom lip was jutted out and trembling terribly.

"Nice to know that you have a voice," Trumpkin noted.

She took a few small steps forward until she was against the cell bars.

"If you have done anything to harm one hair upon Caspian's head then I will not rest until he is avenged," she spat.

"I swear, _I_ have done nothing!" he said. "I only wanted to protect my friends! Do you think I deserved to be captured and beaten? To have all your people's hatred of my kind set upon my shoulders by your father?"

"Do not say a word against my father!" she snarled and spun on her heel to storm after her sisters.

"Think of your sister," he called after her. "Is she not an innocent? Think of all the Narnian children forced to hide from the Telmarines! Are they not innocents too?!"

She paused on the threshold. "Perhaps," she said, just loud enough so he could hear her words. "But the second they raise arms against us, then they shall become our foe."

She marched out to where her sisters waited in the corridor outside the jail. "Come, before someone misses us," she said hurriedly and the three went off through the castle at great speed. Before long, they had reached the more public areas of the castle where their appearances would not be amiss. Here they slowed down and tried to catch their collective breath.

"And who has let my aviary loose to fly about the castle?" a voice boomed from behind them.

The three sisters turned excitedly and Marisela gave a whoop of delight.

"Father, Father, Father!" she squealed and ran towards him with her hands up. Miraz gave a great gasp and let himself be tackled by the little girl before hoisting her up and spinning her around.

"Why is my Little Duck waddling hither and thither about the castle?" he asked, frowning and sticking his bottom lip out at her.

"We've been on an adventure, Father," Ghaliya answered. Miraz settled Marisela onto his hip and held out the other arm so he could hug Ghaliya tightly.

"An adventure, my Night Owl?" he said.

"To see Trumpkin!" Marisela babbled.

"Who is that? Is he a friend of yours, my Little Duck?" he asked. She giggled.

"No, silly Father, he's the funny man in the dungeon!"

Miraz tried to keep his fatherly smile on his face but his eyes hardened.

"Dor, why do your sisters know about "the funny man", as Marisela is calling him?" he asked, his tone suggesting she had better answer his question honestly.

"Marisela only wanted to help you," she said crossly.

"I made him talk," her baby sister agreed with a wise nod of her head.

"I'm sure you did, Little Duck," he said flatly, putting her down. "Ghaliya, be a good girl and take Marisela back to our rooms. I want a little word with Isadora."

Ghaliya exchanged a worried look with her elder sister but dutifully took Marisela's hand and led her away. Not that Marisela exactly wanted to go; Miraz and Isadora heard her complain all the way up the hall and it soon had degenerated into her usual wailing and screeching.

"She needs a firmer hand," Isadora said to her father as Marisela's screams died in the distance. "She's turning into a real brat."

"I am not going to discuss the parenting of one child with another," he said firmly. "But if you must know, both you and Ghaliya went through a similar phase and you have both turned out wonderfully."

She rolled her eyes again but quickly adjusted her expression as he glared at her.

"Now tell me, what business did you have talking to the prisoner?" he asked.

"Marisela was just curious. We all were. Dwarfs were supposed to have died out years ago," she said defensively.

He seemed satisfied. "Did it say anything to you?"

"No," she lied. "He only told us his name."

He gave a short, dark, bark of laughter. "They have names? I am still in shock that it knows how to talk," he muttered, turning away from her slightly. "No matter. It will soon be gone and we can return our attention to recovering our beloved Prince."

"What do you mean "It will soon be gone?"" she demanded.

"I've instructed two of my men to row it downriver and release it back into the woods where Glozelle found it. If it has any sort of intelligence, it should warn its kin to stay hidden away," he said dismissively. "This land is ours now."

He began to walk away from her.

"He's not an "it"," she called after him. She instantly regretted it as he turned back to her, his face burning with anger.

"Forget it, Turtle Dove," he warned her. "And you best tell Ghaliya to do the same. This is not your business. Now, be a good girl and turn your attentions to something more worthy than a mere reminder of a long-dead history."

* * *

 **Yes, Miraz, go "release" Trumpkin. If by release, you mean dump him in the river. :P**

 **Reading Week is now over so I will try to return to the usual upload schedule. Next chapter should be on Friday.**

 **Ghaliya seems awfully in the know, doesn't she? Or at least more so than her older sister. Any theories as to how? :D**

 **As always, thank you for the reviews last chapter. (Sidenote to WH, you could always compose a super-review to send to me in a PM when you have more reliable internet. I love your little reviews but I also love discussing our differing headcanons. :D)**

 **Let me know what you thought of Isadora and Trumpkin's little chat and I will see you in the next chapter!**


	10. An Excursion to Beruna

"Why do you have to look so good in red?" Ghaliya complained as her older sister twirled in front of the mirror. Isadora threw her head back and laughed.

"What can I say? Maybe one day you'll come out your little ugly duckling phase and then you will look as good as me!" she said snidely. Ghaliya rolled her eyes.

"Do you think it needs…" Isadora mused, tugging the bodice of the dress down a little.

"Eagle feathers!" her sister exclaimed. "It's a riding dress, not a ballgown! Keep them under wraps for once in your life!"

She laughed again and readjusted herself. The dress was a new one; in her signature red and in the latest, most fashionable cut. The whole ensemble was completed by a little cropped jacket and a small hat that she had pinned on her head at a jaunty angle.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" she said to her sister as she pulled on a pair of riding gloves and slipped her feet into her boots.

Ghaliya made a face. "I have better things to do than listen to you flirt with soldiers behind Father's back all day on the way to stare appreciatively at a bridge that should have been completed a month ago."

"Goodness, tell me how you really feel," Isadora muttered. "I'll see you tomorrow then. Love you, Li-li!"

"Stop calling me that!" her sister shrieked after her as she ran from the room.

It didn't take her long to make her way down from her family's apartments to the courtyard where her father awaited.

"Morning, Father!" she said brightly, kissing his cheek.

"So nice of you to join us at long last, Dor," he said gruffly. "I was beginning to think we would not see you this side of midday."

"Oh, Father, how you jest," she said sweetly, making her way towards her horse. "Are we all ready to go?"

"Finally," he said. "Let's move out!"

The small retinue of guards and Lords spurred their horses and set off on their journey towards the Beruna. A bridge was currently being built there to replace the ford travellers usually used. The project was supposed to fall under Lord Sopespian's supervision but he apparently was lacking the manpower to finish on time. Miraz and a few of the other Lords were heading out to inspect the progress to help decide if they were going to invest in the project.

So why was Isadora going? She simply wanted to get out of the castle.

Firstly, Caspian's disappearance was still weighing heavily on her mind. Fear gnawed at her insides and there was constant, horrible pressure in her chest. All she could think about was where her dear cousin was and if he was well. Being in the castle, frequenting all the places she usually saw him in, was doing nothing to ease her doubts. Hopefully spending a few days away would push him from her mind.

And secondly, the prince's disappearance had had ramifications for others. Dr Cornelius had vanished too, but this disappearance was a little easier to understand. Half the castle had seen the guards lead the tutor in the direction of the jail. Isadora and Ghaliya, united for a rare moment in the uncomfortable atmosphere of the castle, had also overheard the maids gossiping that Dr Cornelius had somehow _aided_ Caspian in his escape. And, well, the maids' gossip usually had some foundation of truth in it…

Eventually she ended up riding beside her cousin and childhood playmate, Lord Gregoire. They chatted amiably for a while as the leagues passed but it was obvious that something else was on her mind. Her responses became shorter and shorter and eventually she completely missed one of his promptings.

"Dor?" he said gently and she shook herself.

"Sorry. I've got a lot on my mind," she admitted. "I just want to know where Caspian is."

"Everyone's worried about him," he said comfortingly. "But he'll turn up. Just you wait; any day now we'll get a hysterical message through from Queen Delilah to say King Nain is missing too because they've snuck off together to live as the common folk do or some such nonsense."

She laughed. "Don't you ever wish we could go back to being children?" she asked. "I'd give anything for one more day to play with the two of you like we once did. Why ever did we grow apart?"

Gregoire shifted in his saddle, his face becoming uneasy. "Well, you and Caspian always had private lessons away from the rest of us. I just spent less time with you. Even then, I always felt like a bit of an odd-one-out around you two."

She stared at him. "I don't remember that."

"Oh come on, Dor," he sighed. "You were a very… forceful child. You made it clear that you only really wanted to play with Caspian. Half the time, you were so horrible to me that I wonder now why I kept trying to play with you."

She didn't say anything; instead sifting through her memories. All she could remember was fun and bright. Admittedly she had had a few too many tantrums and her mother's health had always loomed in the background like an evil spectre but her memories of games and playtime were all happy occasions.

"Sorry? I don't remember anything like that," she said slowly.

"Forget it," Gregoire said grumpily and moved his horse away from hers.

She spent the rest of the journey alone and in a silent examination of her memories.

* * *

Beruna, when they reached it, was a hive of activity. Isadora handed the reins of her horse to a waiting attendant and dismounted. As she removed her gloves and stretched her hands, she examined the bridge critically.

What, in the name of every black feather of the Eagle's tail, was Sopespian playing at? The construction should have been much further along. All these men were working feverishly but something was off; they were working but they did not seem to actually be building anything.

As the Lords gathered around the foreman and the blueprints, she wandered slightly away. Her eyes fell upon a young man, handsome and muscular, sawing a log with clean even strokes. He looked up at her and she smirked as his eyes travelled up and down her body.

Movement flashed in the corner of her eye and she turned to look. She was just in time to see four heads dart from behind a woodpile on the edge of the construction site back into the woods that pressed around them. Then, her mouth fell open as she saw the Red Dwarf stick his head above the woodpile. He made eye contact with her and grinned at her, a horrible unnerving grin.

"Turtle Dove!" her father called, making her jump. She glanced towards the gathered Lords and then back to the woodpile.

The Dwarf had vanished, just like his four new companions.

"Dor! Over here!" Miraz called again, slightly more impatiently.

"Coming!" she said and hurried quickly over to them.

He gave her a funny look. "Are you alright, Dor? You look like you have seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," she said and turned her attention to the blueprints.

"I'm curious to see how your lessons with that Dr Cornelius have paid off," her father said. "What do you think of the progress? Should we invest our men in this venture?"

She bent over the plans and then straightened up to scrutinise the bridge closer.

"Why is the bridge being built?" she asked.

"To ease the journey of every traveller making his way across the river," Sopespian replied.

"But why is it necessary?" she asked. "The only major town in the north is Beaversdam and you do not have to cross this river to reach it; the others are only a few small hamlets and the holdings of some of the Lords. They are the only ones who really do any sort of travelling to those parts."

"So you consider this to be a waste of resources?" Miraz said, folding his arms.

She thought for a moment. "For now. But you needn't let it be so. I know Grandfather mentioned that there is some problems with overcrowding in the southern towns. Convince the people that a new life and better prospects await them in the North and use this bridge as a symbol. A gateway to the new life. If you invest men then it will look like a united front from all the Lords to provide for the common folk."

There was a pause and then her father threw back hi s head and laughed. The other Lords laughed too, in various levels of enthusiasm.

"What an idea, Dor! If my son has half the brain of his sister, what a politician he shall make!" Miraz boomed, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "Sopespian, I'll give you thirty men. But I want results before the month is out."

* * *

"You did well today, Turtle Dove," Miraz said that evening. They were dining together in the small tent that had been set up for them slightly downriver of the construction site. It was slightly too far away from Beaversdam for them to consider riding back in the same day.

She smiled and took another mouthful of stew.

"Father," she said after swallowing. "There has been something on my mind."

"As long as it is not more wild speculation about Caspian, I am all ears," he said gruffly.

"No… it's about something Grandfather once said to me," she explained. "About my marriage."

He laid down his spoon. "Go on."

"Well, I'm eighteen now, so I'm of marriageable age," she said, "and Grandfather said my marriage would be based around if Mother ever had a son. If she didn't then I would have to marry a second son like she did."

Miraz's face darkened and she felt inclined to rattle through the rest of the explanation.

"But since she did have a son, Grandfather thought he might be able to arrange a match between myself and King Nain. And I wanted your opinion on it."

He raised an eyebrow. "He is a good lad. And you are the highest born lady currently at court so the match is within reason. It would mean negotiating with Delilah, however."

She winced. "And she has never liked me."

"Oh, Delilah likes very little," he replied sagely. "I myself only narrowly escaped an engagement to her in my youth. She took very poorly to your mother after that and always seemed keen to rub her elevation to queen in your mother's face whenever they met."

He regarded her for a moment. "There is a lot happening at the moment, Dor. When things have quietened down again, I shall have a word with your grandfather and we shall start the ball rolling on the betrothal negotiations."

She smiled. "Thank you, Father."

As she stood and cleared away their dinner plates, she was aware of her father's eyes still studying her face. She paused by the tent flap.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing is wrong," he reassured her. "I just never expected for you to come to me asking about marriage."

"If I had the choice, I'd think I'd rather not marry," she admitted. "But since I must, I would at least like to marry someone I know and like already."

He toasted her with his flagon. "Very mature of you, Turtle Dove."

She smiled and ducked out of the tent with the dishes.

Night had long fallen and a mist had crept up the river from the sea. Isadora could barely see more than a few feet ahead of her. She grimaced and slowly trod her way to the mess tent to drop the dishes off and then tried to find her way back.

The fog seemed to be thickening with every moment she floundered in it. She took careful even steps in a direction she thought would take her back to the tent. Then, she became aware of a gentle lapping sound to her right. That must have been the river; she had wandered in completely the wrong direction!

"Lady Isadora?" a gruff voice said out of the gloom.

"My goodness, Glozelle, I almost jumped out of my skin," she gasped, a hand on her chest.

The general materialised out of the fog. "My lady? What are you doing so far from the camp?" he asked.

"I was taking mine and Father's dinner plates back to the mess tent and I got lost in the fog on the way back," she explained.

"Easy to do," he said. "Come, I'll take you back."

She accepted his offered arm and let him lead her back through the fog.

"These fogs come up-river occasionally from the estuary," Glozelle explained as they walked. "They never last long. It is just unfortunate that you happened to get caught in it."

"I just hate that I cannot see a thing," she said.

"Ah, but removing one sense can heighten your others," he pointed out. "What can you hear?"

She glared at him but shut her eyes for a moment. Close at hand, she could hear the gentle breaths of both herself and the general. In the distance she could just about hear the river. Other than that, everything was quiet and still.

 _Clink._

Wait, what was that?

 _Clink._

There it was again.

She opened her eyes. "Did you hear that just now?" she asked.

"Yes," Glozelle said, frowning. "We should be the only ones out. I was on my way to check the scouts when I met you; everyone else has retired for the evening."

They were on the edge of the camp again and the fog had lessened slightly. Isadora could just make out the equipment tent where the guards' hauberks and weapons were kept. A shadowy figure was emerging from the tent flap, a bundle under one arm.

"Halt! Identify yourself!" Glozelle shouted.

The figure froze.

"Identify yourself!" Glozelle demanded again.

Still no response.

The general drew his sword.

"Isadora, be ready to run if necessary. And rouse the camp as you do so," he whispered to her. She nodded.

Glozelle took one step towards the shadowy figure.

Suddenly more figures swarmed everywhere.

"Run!" Glozelle shouted back to her.

She hitched up her skirts and ran as fast she could. More and more figures were materialising out of the fog.

"Help! Help! There's someone in the camp!" she screamed. She heard shouts of confusion and other people running around in the gloom. Her foot slipped on something and down she went in a skid and a scream.

One terrifying shadow loomed out of the fog and reared over her. It was terrifying; it had the body of a horse but a torso that looked like a man and she screamed again and cowered away from it.

It leapt right over her and vanished off into the night. As did the others. They vanished as quickly as they had arrived and all that was left was Isadora in the dirt and the sounds of confusion in the camp around her.

* * *

 **First sneaky glimpse of the Pevensies. ;) And where, oh where, is Caspian? You are worrying your dear cousin, you mean Prince!**

 **Thank you to Ceara Einin for your reviews and hello to all the new followers! Let me know what you think of the new developments and I will see you in the next chapter.**


	11. The Princess You Should Be

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Isadora snapped.

"Milady, that was a nasty tumble you took in the night!" the camp physician said patronisingly. He bent over the gash on her leg again and dabbed at it with an alcohol-soaked rag.

"It's clean! I'll be fine!" she growled and shoved him away. She tried to stand and grimaced as she put weight on her leg. The physician gave her a pointed look over his glasses. She stuck her nose in the air and limped out of the medical tent into the morning sunshine.

Typical.

A raid on the camp, by parties currently unknown, and she was the only one to be injured. Her injury had not even been sustained in some death-defying act of heroism. She had merely fallen over.

She hadn't slept a wink all night. There had been confusion and panic for hours after the night raid. She had been returned to the tent while her father and the other Lords held an emergency meeting.

But she hadn't slept. The image of the horrific creature looming over her replayed over and over in her mind's eye. The sun's first rays had been peeking over the tree-tops by the time she became aware of the dull ache in her leg and had lifted her skirt to see the gash.

Her father was meeting with Glozelle and Sopespian beside the tent she and the General had seen the first of the shadowy figures slide from. She limped over to join them.

Miraz watched his daughter approach with a hard look in his eye and then turned back to Glozelle.

"Your report?" he said coldly.

"They took all the stores we had here, which were enough weapons for three full regiments," the General said. "And there's more. It seems they left a message for us."

He gestured to one of the wagons next to the tent. It was one of several around the camp; slow, clumsy vehicles used for the transfer of goods around the kingdom. Miraz swung its open door up and the message was clear to see.

" _You were right to fear the woods. X,"_ he read.

"X?" Sopespian asked.

"Caspian. The Tenth," Miraz spat and Isadora's heart gave a horrible lurch.

No. No, Caspian could not have had anything to do with this! It was preposterous!

"I'm sorry this happened," Glozelle said. "The blame lies entirely with me."

Miraz stared once more at the message carved into the wagon and then turned his steely eye back to Glozelle.

"And how many men were killed in the raid?" he asked.

Confusion crept over the General's face. "My Lord?"

"Well, this was clearly a brutal attack. My own daughter, Lady Isadora, was injured," Miraz hissed in a voice like a thrown knife.

"Father, I fell over in the fog," Isadora said timidly.

"They appeared from nowhere. Like ghosts. It was a miracle that Lady Isadora's leg was the only injury sustained," Glozelle added.

"Then explain your own injuries," Miraz said.

Glozelle shifted from foot to foot. Isadora snuck a glance at Sopespian. He was smirking again. Whenever something was afoot, he always had that horrible little smirk on his face.

She jumped as her father struck Glozelle around the face.

"I'll ask again, General. How many men were killed in this bloody Narnian raid, of which you were a fortunate survivor," he said. He drew his sword and offered it hilt first to Glozelle.

With a small look behind him at a nearby group of soldiers, Glozelle hesitantly accepted the sword.

"Three," he said.

"Good man," Miraz said and turned away. "Come, Turtle Dove. We'll be returning to the castle as soon as possible."

Not entirely understanding what she had just witnessed, Isadora meekly followed after her father.

"So it would appear that there is a link between this Narnian uprising and the disappearance of Caspian after all," Sopespian mused as he accompanied them towards their awaiting horses.

"What?" she exclaimed. "This is madness! Caspian can't possibly have anything to do with last night!"

There was a pause as Sopespian glanced at Miraz with raised eyebrows. "She doesn't know?" he asked. When Miraz did not respond, Sopespian gave a short little bark of laughter and turned back to Isadora.

"The Old Narnians are not as extinct as we thought. It would appear that they have been in hiding and, how was it you put it the other day, Miraz? _Breeding like cockroaches under a rock,_ was it?" he smirked. "And it also seems that our daring young Prince decided to join them."

Isadora opened her mouth to retort and then closed it in an instant. Caspian had always loved the stories about Old Narnia when they were little. She had been the one who begged the Nurse for the Old Telmarine tales and he had begged for the Narnian ones. If he heard a rumour about the Old Narnians being more than legend then she was certain he would have rushed out to find them.

He had always been rather headstrong in that way.

"If we ride hard then we can be back to the castle by noon," Miraz said as he mounted his horse. "The Council will convene in the afternoon to discuss Caspian's defection."

"I need to stay here to oversee the construction for another day," Sopespian said. "Tell Lorrin to take my place on the Council; he could use the experience."

"But I need _you_ there, not your son! I need your support!" Miraz hissed, his face flushing.

"You know the moves you need to make," Sopespian said firmly.

Isadora made a great deal of mounting her horse and rearranging her skirts. As she was doing so, Sopespian leaned in close to her father and she only just caught his whispered advice.

" _Scythley is your only true adversary left on the Council. The others will back you if you play them right."_

* * *

Her father set a terrifying pace back to the castle. They had barely clattered back into the courtyard before he had swung off his horse and vanished back into the castle with the other Lords following behind closely.

Isadora followed at a more sedate pace, partly due to the stiffness of her injured leg.

Returning to her bedroom was bliss. She shut the door behind her and lent against it. Her weak leg began to tremble as, once again, that horrible shadow loomed over her in her mind's eye.

She pulled herself together and started to limp across the room towards her washstand. The reflection in her mirror caught her attention and she stopped to look properly.

Her beautiful new dress, the one she had twirled in so happily for Ghaliya only yesterday, was ruined. The fabric had torn where she had slipped, revealing her petticoats underneath. How could she have only just noticed it?

She tore it off with a disappointed sigh and slipped into an old favourite.

Ghaliya slipped into the room as she was washing her face. She curled up neatly on the foot of her sister's bed and waited for Isadora to finish up.

"Is it true?" she asked. "Are the Old Narnians really back?"

"You were so sure the other day," Isadora snapped. " _That thing in the dungeon perfectly matches the description of a Red Dwarf!"_ she said in a cruel, sing-song mimic of her sister's voice.

Ghaliya didn't reply. Isadora busied herself with plaiting her hair, fully aware of her sister's eyes boring into her back.

"Sorry," she said eventually, leaning over her washstand.

"It's OK," Ghaliya said quietly. "Did a giant really attack the camp by the bridge?"

"No," she said. "The time it takes for a rumour to become completely skewed in this place astounds me."

Her sister chuckled. "It's the maids. Tell them a robin landed on the Southern Tower and, before the hour is out, everyone will be swearing it was the Black Eagle."

"Well, I can tell you there was definitely no giant there," Isadora said. She crossed the room and sat down beside Ghaliya on the bed.

"Father's upset," she admitted. "He thinks Caspian has something to do with the attack and the Old Narnians."

"No way," Ghaliya scoffed. "Caspian probably just decided to go off to Archenland or Galma without telling anybody."

"There's talks of defection. The Lords are holding an emergency Council this afternoon," Isadora said with a shake of her head. "Ghaliya, I'm so scared. I think Cas could be in real trouble. And I saw the Dwarf from the dungeons there. Oh, what if Caspian has somehow met up with the Old Narnians?! Even if this preposterous idea that he is leading them is false, what if he's been kidnapped by them?"

Ghaliya looked at her sister carefully and then turned to look at the clock above the mantelpiece.

"Come on, there is no use sitting here "what if"ing. We're going to listen in on this Council," she said, standing up.

"Are you mad?!" Isadora yelped. "If we got caught-"

"It's only half one; they won't convene until at least two," Ghaliya said quickly. "If we get to the Council Chamber now we can hide before they start arriving. I know a place where we can hide."

She led Isadora to one of the upper galleries of the Council Chamber. The room was actually the Great Hall but, in the current absence of a King, the younger generations knew it better as the place where the Council met. It was a handsome room; the throne raised opposite the main doors and the twenty seats of the Lords lining the walls. Around three of the walls ran a wood-lined gallery, where the sisters currently stood. Once upon a time, the Council sessions had been open to the public but ever since the death of Caspian IX, they had been held in private.

"They'll see us here!" Isadora moaned, looking down at the throne and the Lords' seats below them. Ghaliya rolled her eyes and headed for one of the wooden carvings at the far end of the gallery. She scanned it for a moment and then pushed the carving of the Black Eagle. A door slid back, revealing a black space beyond.

"Come on, there's a peephole on the other side," she said, looking back at her sister.

"How do you know it's here?" Isadora asked.

"Oh, the castle is full of secret passages. This one comes out near the wine cellar. In case the King and the Lords got thirsty, I guess?" Ghaliya replied with a shrug.

"But, how do _you_ know it's here," she asked. Ghaliya flushed hotly.

"I like to listen to the Council meetings," she stammered.

"You are so weird," Isadora said but followed her into the close space.

She wasn't aware of exactly how long she spent cramped in there with her sister but eventually they heard the sounds of the hall doors opening and the hubbub of the arriving Lords.

Ghaliya opened a small panel in front of her which allowed both sisters to see down the length of the hall.

"Is that Lord Sopespian's son, Lorrin, talking with Grandfather?" Ghaliya whispered.

Isadora pushed some of her sister's hair to one side so she could lean down and properly take a look.

"Yes, I think so. Sopespian is still at Beruna," she whispered back.

Lorrin was only a few years older than her but had never been part of her circle of playmates growing up. He was instantly recognisable at court since he looked distinctly un-Telmarine. Lord Sopespian's first marriage had produced four snooty and sour-faced daughters that the Lord had been quick to marry off as soon as they had come of age. His second marriage had been to a lady much younger than himself who hailed from the Seven Isles; an archipelago off the Ettinsmoors. Their union had produced only one child, Lorrin.

The gossip at court said Lorrin wasn't actually Sopespian's; a rumour mainly perpetuated by the young man's light brown hair and paler skin. Isadora thought it was a stupid rumour. His mother's skin was so pale she was almost white and her hair was a pale blonde in colour. Lorrin obviously just favoured her more.

Besides, he had the same scheming smirk as his father. She had never really associated with him but his smirk had always prevented her from considering doing so.

"He's cute," Ghaliya noted, breaking Isadora's contemplation of him.

"Ghaliya! He's ten years older than you!" she hissed, nudging her in the back.

"Pot calling kettle black?" her sister muttered.

Isadora was about to retort hotly when the door to the hall opened once more and their father stormed in, Glozelle at his heels.

"Lords of the Council, we have discovered the fate of Prince Caspian," Miraz said as he walked down the hall. He turned and faced the assembled Lords. "He has left our care and joined the remnants of the Old Narnians with the intent of starting a rebellion."

The voices of the Lords rose up in disbelief and the two hidden girls watched as they turned to each other. Miraz held up his hands and pleaded for calm.

"How could this happen?" their grandfather, Scythley demanded.

"We are unsure of his motives. He is, after all, less than two years away from ascending the throne. Two years must be too long for him," Miraz mused. "All we know is that the construction site of the bridge at Beruna was targeted in an attack last night. The Narnians responsible for the attack were led by Caspian."

"Were they now?" another Lord said drily. "Where is Sopespian? Why has he sent his cub to play with us instead?"

Lorrin's pale cheeks flushed but he stood and drew a piece of parchment from inside his doublet.

"My Lord Father felt it necessary to remain at Beruna to oversee the clean-up operation in the aftermath of the attack," he said. "He sent this letter and asked I take his place for this council."

He unfolded the letter and read it aloud.

" _My fellow Lords._

 _At approximately twenty two hundred hours last night, a faction believed to be the Old Narnians raided the camp. They left behind an indication that their leader was none other than Prince Caspian. Three of our men were killed in the attack and Lady Isadora, daughter of Lord Miraz, sustained an injured leg in the confusion. A full report shall be compiled upon my return."_

"Where is Isadora? I wish to hear her testimony," Scythley said as Lorrin took his seat again. "She knows Caspian better than any of us; she can tell us if this supposed behaviour is within his character."

Isadora swore quietly but her father swiftly and unknowingly came to the rescue.

"Dor is resting," he said coldly. "Caspian's betrayal was a nasty shock for her, as you can understand, and coupled with her injury she is feeling a bit delicate."

Ghaliya snorted. "You, delicate?"

Isadora nudged her in the back again.

"So what do we do now?" another Lord said in the hall below.

There was a moment's pause and then Glozelle spoke up.

"Prince Caspian has made his loyalties clear," he said. "A soldier who deserts the army is stripped of all rank and honour. I regret to propose that we must do the same to Caspian."

Isadora clutched Ghaliya's hand in the darkness as the Lords' voices again rose into a hubbub and they began to debate the motion back and forth. If Caspian was removed from the order of succession, their father was next in line to the throne. Miraz would become king and their new baby brother would take Caspian's place as Crown Prince at less than a week old.

Finally, the motion came to a vote. Lord Scythley and surprisingly Lorrin voted against, but all the other Lords voted for.

"Congratulations, my Lord, or should I now say, your Majesty," Scythley said to Miraz coldly. "Someone send for the notary and we'll have this legalised."

Up in the hidden space, Ghaliya tugged on her stunned sister's sleeve and together they drew down the hidden passage. Sure enough, it led down a tight spiral staircase and emerged behind some of the casks in the wine cellar.

The sisters hurried up through the castle as quickly as Isadora's leg would let them. They eventually arrived in their family's private living room where their younger sister, Marisela, happened to be playing with her nurse. As Ghaliya moved forward to join their game, Isadora sank onto one of the armchairs beside the fireplace.

That was it. Caspian had been disowned. What had the silly, silly boy got himself in to? Where was he?

And, why had Sopespian said that three men were killed in the raid? She had had the only injury, she distinctly remembered Glozelle saying so. None of this made any sense!

"Ah, my aviary all together!" her father said from the doorway and she quickly forced a smile on her face.

"Is the Council session over so soon?" she asked.

"No, merely taking a respite while the notary draws up some documents," he replied.

"Nursie, where is Duck-Duck?" Marisela asked her nurse, referring to her favourite stuffed toy.

"I think he has gone for an adventure in the laundry," her nurse replied. "I'll go and look and leave you to spend some time with your father and sisters, my little lady."

Miraz waited until the door had closed behind her before turning to his three daughters with a smile.

"Girls, I have some exciting news," he said. "I am going to become King, and you, my darlings, are all going to become princesses."

Isadora and Ghaliya both gasped and made a great show of surprise as if this was both brand new news to them. Marisela, however, was less than impressed.

"Excuse you, Father, but I am already a Princess," she said primly.

Miraz roared with laughter and swept her up.

"And indeed you are, my Little Duck!" he crowed, swinging her around the room until she shrieked and giggled and clutched at his sleeves with her little hands. "But I am the only one to call my aviary princesses for now. And that will soon be changing. You shall be a little Duckling Princess with your very own tiara and feathers.

"And you, Ghaliya, will become just as regal as your dear namesake, and men shall travel far and wide to come and revel in your beauty," he added, hoisting Marisela onto his hip so he could grab Ghaliya's hand and pull her into an odd one-handed waltz.

"And you, Isadora," he said, bringing his odd dance with his two younger daughters to a halt. He smiled at his eldest daughter, a proud smile.

"You shall be a Princess; the Princess you should have been from birth," he said. "And Nain would be a fool to not make you a Queen as well."

She couldn't help but smile and moved forward to take Marisela from him. He pulled the two of them close again, gathered in Ghaliya, and all four of them spun again in a whirlwind of clothes and laughter. Prunaprismia, drawn by the sound of merriment, came through with the baby in her arms and they too were pulled into the dance.

For a moment, they were together and they were happy.

For a moment, her worry for Caspian was driven from Isadora's mind.

* * *

 **And finally I can introduce my final main OC for _Ashes,_ Lorrin! He doesn't have that big a part to play in _Ashes_ but trust me, he has a lot more to do in the next part. :D I'm also stating this now; whether Lorrin ends up a friend or foe to Caspian, he and Isadora will never ever _ever_ have any romantic feelings for each other. I want to get that out the way before yous all start with the wild speculations.**

 **Thank you to Ceara Einin for your review last chapter and to everyone who followed and favourited! Let me know what you think of everything unfolding! I shall see you next time, for a very special night indeed...**


	12. Strangers in the Night

The clock on her mantelpiece chimed two.

Isadora rolled over and tried to get comfortable. In a few hours she was supposed to spring out of bed all fresh-faced and ready for her father's coronation.

No, sleep was coming to her no time soon. She sat up and stretched.

In the corner of her room, the black and gold dress she had worn to Nain's coronation was propped up against an armchair. There was really no time for any detailed preparations for Miraz. Clothes were being repurposed, the Hall would unfortunately be undecorated, and she shuddered to think of the chaos probably going on in the kitchens right now.

She pushed the sheets off and reached for her robe to tie over her nightgown. It was one of her favourite possessions. It had been a gift from Caspian for her eighteenth birthday a few months ago and was her favourite red colour, decorated with little embroidered black feathers and golden roses.

Her slippers, however, had decided to elude her. She even knelt down and looked under the bed in case they had been kicked under there.

Marisela was currently going through a 'tidying' phase where she liked to raid her parents' and sisters' bedrooms for anything left where her grasping little hands could reach. She would then proceed to merrily distribute her ill-gotten gains anywhere throughout the castle she thought they were better suited.

Just the other day, Isadora had had to retrieve her favourite pair of silk stockings from Lorrin's room before he returned and found them. That would have been embarrassing if it reached the wrong ears. The Eagle knew where her slippers were now if Marisela had indeed got her hands on them.

With a sigh, she pulled on an old comfy pair of stockings and slipped her feet into her boots.

She then left her room with the intention of fetching the encyclopaedia from her family's sitting room. Earlier in the day, Ghaliya had pulled her aside to whisper that she had overheard Sopespian and their father talking. A scout had returned with news of the Old Narnians. They were apparently hiding out in a place called Aslan's How on the other side of Beruna.

Isadora remembered that Aslan was a lion, and was to the Narnians what the Black Eagle was to the Telmarines, but that was about it. She had never heard anything about a How. She was hoping the encyclopaedia would have some answers.

There was no noise from Ghaliya's room but from Marisela's there came a sobbing and the low comforting tones of the night nurse. Poor Little Duck must have had a nightmare.

She continued on her way.

The night nurse had left the nursery door ajar when she left to attend to Marisela and a small pool of yellow candlelight stretched across the stone floor.

Isadora was about level with it when she heard the door on the other side of the nursery slam open. Curious, she poked her head around the door but in an instant had shot back into the shadows; a hand upon her mouth to try to mask her suddenly-panicked breathing.

There was a boy and a girl in the nursery, standing over her brother's cradle. She had never seen them before but they were both armed and they looked dangerous.

"Where did _that_ come from?!" she heard the boy ask.

"Did Mum never have that talk with you?" the girl replied playfully.

There was an irritated pause and then the boy said, "Come on, we need to find Miraz," and she thankfully heard the sound of retreating feet.

 _Calm, Dor, calm,_ she desperately thought. _What was that accent? Was it Archenland? Why were there people from Archenland in the castle? What did they want with Father?_

 _Go wake everyone up._

She turned tail and ran back towards her sisters' rooms as quickly but as quietly as she could.

"Ghaliya, wake up!" she hissed as she ducked through the door.

Her sister made a few non-committal sounds from her cocoon of bedclothes. Isadora hurried across the room to try to yank her out of bed.

"Ghaliya, Ghaliya please!" she whispered, tugging at her sister's shoulder.

"This isn't funny, Dor," Ghaliya moaned as she rolled over. "Leave me alone or I'll go get Father."

"No, Ghaliya, get up now!" she hissed. Her younger sister sat up and stared at her, sensing her urgency. She pulled her out of bed and wrapped her robe around her.

"There are people here, I think they are from Archenland or maybe the Islands, and I think they are trying to kill us," she whispered. Ghaliya's eyes became as round as saucers.

"Kill us? Why?" she whispered back, clinging to Isadora's arm.

"I don't know. I overheard them in the baby's room but they left him alone; I think they took a wrong turn because they were talking about Father. Go get the baby, get Marisela and the night nurse and then go hide," she said. "I need you to be brave so I can go and help Mother and Father. Can you do it?"

"Yes," Ghaliya stammered and then threw her arms around her sister. "Please be careful!"

"I will. Now go!"

They ran for the door, only pausing to grab a letter opener so Ghaliya had at least something to defend herself with.

In the corridor, Ghaliya gave her sister's hand one last squeeze before hurrying into Marisela's room. Isadora went into her own room to grab her crossbow and bolts and then made her way quickly towards her parents' room. The bow trembled in her hands. She had shot at other humans before when she had had little more than a toy in her hands. This was an actual crossbow, slightly lighter and more compact than the ones carried by the guards, and she had never turned it on another person before. She had hunted with it, of course, but she had never dreamed she might have to shoot a human.

There was light coming from under her parents' door as well. She stayed back a little so the occupants of the room wouldn't hear her load a bolt and then moved closer to the door.

"Put the sword down, Caspian. I don't want to do this," she heard her mother say and her stomach did the most horrible of backflips.

"We don't want you to either!" she heard a girl shout as another door slammed.

Hoping everyone would be looking the other way, she took a chance and nudged the door open slightly.

On the far side of the room were the two strangers from the nursery. The boy's sword was drawn and the girl had an arrow notched in her shortbow. She was aiming at Prunaprismia, who was kneeling on the bed with a crossbow in her hands – a crossbow she was aiming at Caspian.

Isadora had to choke back a sob when she saw him.

He wasn't her Cas; he was some terrible stranger. His handsome face was twisted into pure hatred and his sword was held to Miraz's neck.

Miraz himself seemed unperturbed by the situation.

"This used to be a private room," he noted drily, his hands on his hips.

Prunaprismia exchanged a look with her husband and then caught a glimpse of Isadora hidden outside the room. Her brow furrowed as she recognised her daughter and she gave her head the tiniest of shakes.

"Caspian! You are supposed to be in the gatehouse!" the mysterious boy was saying.

Caspian began to shake with anger.

"No!" he shouted. "Tonight, for once, I want the truth!"

He took a deep breath and then fixed all his hatred upon his uncle.

"Did you kill my father?"

In the moment before her father replied, Isadora almost threw down her crossbow, ran into the room and smacked Caspian around the head for being such an idiot.

Anger boiled through her. Is this why he had run? Some traitor had filled his head with lies and deceit and had turned him against his family. Turned him against the man who had raised him and treated him like a son.

Turned him against _her_.

Her father was quiet.

"So now we are getting somewhere," he said.

Her mother dropped her bow slightly.

"You told me your brother died in his sleep?" she said, disbelievingly.

"Well, that was more or less accurate," he shrugged.

Caspian made a noise like a wounded animal and pushed forward. Miraz was forced to take a few steps back but the blade still pierced his neck. He continued staring at his nephew, paying no attention at all to the trickle of blood now running down his nightshirt.

"Did you kill my father?" Caspian asked again.

"Caspian, please, this won't help anything," the mysterious girl with the bow begged. Isadora's blood boiled again. Who were these strangers? Who had taken her best friend from her and replaced him with this revenge-driven shadow?

"We Telmarines would have nothing if we had not taken it," her father was saying. "Your father knew it, I know it, and even my daughters know it."

Her mother lowered her crossbow even more. "Miraz…" she said softly. "How could you?"

"For the same reason you will pull the trigger!" he spat. "For our girls, and _for our son!"_

He took a step forward into Caspian's blade. The strange girl shouted a warning and Prunaprismia brought her bow up again but Isadora barely noticed them. All she could concentrate on was her father and her cousin locked together.

"I'm sorry, Prue, but you have to ask yourself a question," her father said, his eyes burning. "Do you want our son to be a King? Or do you want him to be like Caspian? _Fatherless!"_

Her mother screamed wildly and pulled the trigger. Caspian fell to one side and Miraz took the opportunity to duck into another hidden passageway, closely followed by his now openly sobbing wife.

Isadora stayed rooted to the spot as Caspian pushed himself off the ground and lurched after the fleeing strangers.

The rage in her blood built and built until she was shaking. Her lips curled back in a snarl and then she found herself tearing after the trio with a scream.

" _Caspian,_ " she screeched as she skidded into the corridor after them.

Her crossbow was brought up and aimed squarely at Caspian's back. The girl turned and Isadora moved her bow quickly.

"Don't," she said. "You even try to draw that arrow and I'll drop you."

"Woah, Dor, it's alright," Caspian said, stepping in front of the girl with his hands raised.

"We don't have time for this!" the boy hissed. "They are waiting outside; we just have to open the gates."

"By the Eagle, you have betrayed us," Isadora said weakly. The tip of her bow began to shake and tears welled in her eyes. "Why, Cas? You were going to be King in two years."

"You think your father would have let that happened?" he snarled, the hatred returning to his face. "He killed my father! He tried to kill me!"

"No he didn't, he wouldn't! He loved you!" she shrieked back.

Caspian slowly took a step towards her. The warning bells struck up. In a few minutes, the castle would be crawling with soldiers.

"Caspian!" the boy said again, urgency in his voice.

"Just let me talk to her!" Caspian pleaded and then turned back to her. He stretched out a hand.

"Come with us," he said. "Come with me, Dor, and I'll explain everything. There's an entire world been hidden from us."

"I should just kill you, you traitor," she said and tightened her grip on her bow.

For what seemed like an eternity, she stared down the length of the crossbow and tried to find the resolve within her to pull the trigger and kill her best friend.

Then, the most peculiar occurrence happened. The warm smell of spices, horses, and the desert sands enveloped her. She became acutely aware of a presence at her right shoulder but the faces of the three in front of her told her nobody had joined them. Her rage slipped from her, finger by wrathful finger.

And finally someone whispered in her ear, in a rich and comforting voice.

" _Don't do it, Isadora. Return to your rightful place beside your King, Protector."_

She hesitated.

And then she lowered her bow.

* * *

 **Yay, the website is working again so I can finally get the chapter up! I'm so excited to give you this one; it's one of my favourites!**

 **Thank you to Ceara Einin, TortoisetheStoryteller, SageTelgar and the guest for your reviews last chapter!**

 **As always, let me know what you thought and I shall see you next time.**


	13. The Narnians

The four hurried through the corridors of the castle.

Caspian stopped by a wall bracket and gave it a pull. A hidden section of wall slid back.

"Dor, down there," he said. "It'll take you to the stables. Get some horses ready."

"Come on, we haven't much time!" the other boy yelled and went off at a sprint. The girl followed after exchanging a look with Caspian.

"Cas, what's going on?" Isadora asked. He clasped a hand to her shoulder.

"Just go. Meet us in the courtyard with the horses," he said and hurried after his companions.

She blinked and then ducked into the hidden passageway. What was she getting herself into?

The passage was dark and twisty and in a number of places she stumbled on her injured leg. Then she rounded a corner and smelt the comforting, warm smell of the horses. The hidden door was easy enough to activate, even in the dark, and she emerged in the farrier's office right inside the stable door.

The horses were agitated by the alarm bells. They stared at her fearfully as she moved down the length of the stables. Her own horse whickered softly when she saw her.

"Hey girlie," she said comfortingly, opening her stall. She went to place her crossbow on the ground when something moved out the corner of her eye.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! It is only me, my lady!" the figure said quickly as she brought the crossbow round.

"Cornelius?" she said. "I suppose Caspian let you out?"

"Yes. Are you aiding or abetting him?" the old tutor said, moving forward into the lantern light.

"I am just saddling horses," she replied, placing her crossbow on the floor and reaching for her saddle.

"Excellent. I'll help," he said.

Before long, they had three horses saddled and ready to go. All the time they were working, Isadora desperately tried to ignore the sounds of the battle raging just a few feet away from them in the courtyard.

Caspian burst through the doors.

"Come on, we're leaving!" he said. He mounted her horse before Isadora could get to her and indicated that she should ride with him instead of mounting the spare horse. She swung her crossbow over her shoulder and then climbed up behind him and locked her arms tight around her cousin's waist.

With a glance to make sure Cornelius was behind them, Caspian spurred the horse out into the courtyard. Isadora tried to stifle a scream and clung to him even tighter.

There were creatures everywhere, creatures she had only ever seen in drawings. She stared around at the fauns and the satyrs in disbelief. A centaur thundered past them and she cringed into Caspian's back with a high-pitched yelp. There was no mistaking the distinctive half-man, half-horse shape that had loomed over her at Beruna.

High on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, Miraz waited for Glozelle to give the order to the archers.

"Well?" he barked angrily as his nephew and the other fugitives clattered towards the gate.

Glozelle hesitated.

"Isadora is down there," he said.

Miraz tore the crossbow from his arms and aimed it at the minotaur holding up the portcullis.

Isadora looked around, saw her father aiming the bow, and turned and buried her head back against Caspian. He hadn't done that. He must have seen her. He would never try anything when she was down here.

She was too precious to him. She was his Turtle Dove.

And then the bolts came raining down.

The strange boy from her parents' bedroom came running from nowhere and took a running leap at the spare horse.

They ducked under the portcullis and thundered across the drawbridge.

The portcullis had fallen behind them, trapping numerous Narnians inside the courtyard. The boy had hung back to stare at them but now he turned to look at their little group beyond the drawbridge. His eyes were full of pain and disbelief but he had to move to join them as the chain of the drawbridge rattled and the planks began to raise.

His horse vaulted the gap and the survivors were off; a rag-tag tangle of Old Narnians.

And Isadora.

What exactly had she got herself into?

* * *

She spent much of the journey in some kind of stupor; completely unaware of her surroundings. It wasn't until they had to ford a river that she snapped back to consciousness. She leant her head against Caspian's back again, thankful that he was safe. The terrible rage that had gripped her had all but vanished and she was now struggling to remember exactly why she had been so angry. Every time she tried to focus on the stand-off in the corridor, the smell of the horses would momentarily overwhelm her and something would press down on her shoulder until she gave an odd little spluttering cough and let the memory go. Resigning herself to maybe never understanding what had happened, she took the opportunity to properly examine the two who had been in her family's chambers.

The boy was about her age; blond, blue-eyed, handsome. He had a proud and regal-looking profile. Something about the set of his jaw told her that he was some sort of noble. He had the same look about him as her father and her grandfather. He was a leader.

The girl with the bow was riding on the back of one of the centaurs; a wild-looking creature. The girl herself was one of the most beautiful people Isadora had ever seen. Her face held some similarities to the boy's so Isadora guessed she was his sister. They shared the same blue eyes but her hair was a dark brown in colour.

She felt Isadora's eyes on her and looked around. Isadora quickly looked away.

Her mother once told her that behind a pretty face lay either a blank sheet or the most detailed of manuscripts. The girl was the latter; her gaze had been thoughtful and intelligent.

As the first rays of dawn crept over the trees of the woods, they arrived in a wide and flower-filled meadow.

"Welcome to Aslan's How," Caspian said to her quietly.

On the far side of the meadow there lay a stone structure. It looked, she thought as they rode towards it, like a temple or sorts. The meadow had a strange, almost hallowed atmosphere.

As they neared it, a griffin swooped down from the sky and another boy climbed off its back. The girl quickly jumped from the centaur's back and hurried over to check on him. He too shared slight similarities with the mysterious siblings – the girl's dark hair and the same noble jawline as the boy. Another brother, perhaps, younger than the other two?

The blond-haired boy dismounted and angrily stormed off towards the How.

Caspian pulled her horse to a halt, dismounted, and then helped Isadora down. He wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders and led her towards the How.

A girl not much older than Ghaliya had emerged from the How. She pushed some of her golden hair over one shoulder and then shielded her eyes from the rising sun, counting the soldiers.

"What happened?" she asked as they all neared.

"Ask him," the eldest brother snapped, his head jerking at Caspian.

His brother and sister exchanged a look as Caspian tensed up.

"Do not blame me!" he growled. "You had plenty of time to call it off."

The boy rounded on him. "If you had stuck to the plan then there would have been plenty of time! All we have to show for this failure is half our army and _her."_

He pointed angrily at Isadora.

"Leave her out of it," Caspian said but Isadora was slowly making connections.

"Wait, you seriously thought you could take the castle," she said. "No-one has ever taken it in the entirety of its history."

"I tried to tell them that," Caspian said to her quietly.

"You called us, remember! You blew the horn!" the boy shouted, moving forward. Caspian paused. His face was blank but Isadora felt his grip tighten slightly on her shoulder.

"That would be my first mistake," he said.

The boy laughed to himself. "No," he said with a shake of his head. "Your first mistake was made when you decided to lead my people."

Caspian let go her go and stormed forward. " _Your_ people? You abandoned Narnia!" he shouted.

"And you invaded it!" the boy shouted back, his face slowly turning red. "You have no more right to the throne than Miraz! You, him, your father! Narnia is better off without the lot of you."

Isadora watched Caspian falter. His shoulders tensed and his fingers instinctively stroked the handle of the Dirk strapped to his hip.

The Dirk, the brother to her grandfather's Bow, was his symbol of authority. It signified his right to the Telmarine throne and had belonged to his father before him, and then the grandfather he shared with Isadora before that, and all through the history of the Telmarine Kings until the very first Caspian himself.

He had a right to rule, both he and Isadora were well aware of it.

He drew his sword and spun with a terrible roar. The boy retaliated just as fast and they stared each other down, their swords at their throats.

"Stop!" the younger brother yelled.

They all turned to see the Red Dwarf slowly being lifted to the ground. His face was pale under the dirt and he had a nasty bruise on one of his temples.

The youngest girl pushed through them and ran to him, pulling a small bottle from a holdall on her belt as she did so. She knelt on the grass and let a few drops of the mixture drip into the Dwarf's mouth.

Colour returned to his cheeks and his eyes fluttered open. He sat up and groggily looked around.

"What are you waiting for? The Telmarines will be after us soon enough!" he said grumpily. Satisfied that he was fine, the girl straightened up. He caught her hand and whispered something to her.

She smiled. It was a pretty smile that lit up her face.

Isadora wondered how she came to be here. Sure, she had a dagger strapped to her hip but she didn't look like a warrior. This was no place for a child, Isadora couldn't help but think.

She pulled her robe slightly tighter around her. She only had her nightgown on underneath her robe and it was a chilly morning.

The other brother, the one with dark hair, was eyeing her with interest.

"Where'd she come from?" he asked, nodding towards her.

"She's with me; I will vouch for her," Caspian said quickly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders again.

"And that's all well and good but who is she?" he asked again. Caspian opened his mouth but Isadora got there first.

"I am Lady Isadora of the royal court, granddaughter of Caspian VIII through my father Lord Miraz, and a direct descendant of the Bloodline of the Bow," she replied hotly. "And you are, sir?"

The dark-haired boy cocked an eyebrow.

"Miraz's daughter? Really?" he said, completely ignoring her question.

"We can trust her," Caspian insisted. "I would trust Isadora with my life."

The other boy seemed satisfied and turned away, walking over to his siblings.

"Is no-one going to answer my questions?" Isadora demanded. "Who are these people?"

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she realised. Perhaps it was the sight of all four of them together, or maybe the red lion on the older girl's quiver, or maybe it was the younger girl's little bottle of cordial and the dagger.

She took a step away from Caspian and stared at him with a look of disbelief approaching horror.

"This has got to be a joke," she said, shaking her head. "I thought they were a fairytale."

"Charming. We are quite real, I assure you," the golden-haired boy said grimly. "I am Peter, High King of Narnia, and these are my siblings-"

"Susan, Edmund and Lucy," Isadora said with a nod. "I remember. I've not thought about those stories in years. How did you end up with us? And why are you the same age as me and Cas? I'd have thought you would have been older."

"You, him, the DLF, everyone really," Lucy noted on her way past them into the How. Peter watched her go, a muscle tightening in his jaw.

Isadora stared at Caspian. "What have you got us mixed up in," she said. "You said you would explain."

"That can wait," Peter said. "There are some questions you need to answer first. About your father."

* * *

 **Thank you to PopRockShawty for the help she gave with this chapter.**

 **Why Bronze Cat, I hear you cry, if this is a movieverse fic, why does Lucy have blonde hair like she does in the books? And the reason is - I can't tell you right now. :D What I can say now is there is an explanation (although by the time we get there all you readers will probably have forgotten) and the more I think about it, the more I like two blonde Pevensies and two dark-haired Pevensies. Still, that is one of the beauties of fanfiction, we can take bits we like from both book and film and blend them together!**

 **One more thing - the first Caspian is a different person from Caspian the Conqueror (Caspian I). My reasoning here is that before coming to Narnia, the monarchs of Telmar were known as the Merchant Kings. When they made the move to Narnia, Caspian was crowned Caspian I of both Narnia and Telmar and the Merchant King styling was dropped.**

 **Thanks to Wildhorses1492 and TortoisetheStoryteller for your reviews last chapter. Let me know what you thought this time and I shall see you soon!**


	14. The Icy Gateway

"Well. What do you know?" Isadora asked flatly.

She had been led into the How and shown into an odd sort of side-chamber. It was filled with sacks and barrels of food but Isadora had the suspicions that it was temporarily going to serve as her prison cell until the Kings and Queens of Old decided they could trust her. The whole state of affairs was very irritating since all she wanted to do was pin Caspian to the nearest wall and grill him until he told her why he had been acting like such an idiot.

She was sitting primly on a sack of what felt like grain, Peter was seated on a barrel opposite her, and Susan and Caspian were hovering in the doorway.

If not for Peter glowering at her, Isadora would have slyly noted that Caspian seemed unable to take his eyes off Susan. It amused his cousin greatly since she was certain she had never seen him show interest in anyone before. Any other situation would have provoked copious teasing from her.

Peter staring at her grimly, however, suggested to her that there was a time and a place for such mockery.

"Tell us about Miraz," he said.

"Certainly. He doesn't like mushrooms," she said with a smile. Peter exchanged a confused look with his sister as Isadora went off on a little tirade.

"He prefers wine to ale – and his favourite wine is a particularly raucous red that comes from a vineyard on the southernmost tip of Terebinthia. He takes the right-hand side of the bed, but you already know that. He nicknamed me Turtle Dove and my younger sisters Night Owl and Little Duck because he knows our mother likes birds. His favourite colour is green but he looks best in either dark blue or grey," she said.

They all looked distinctly unamused.

"As nice as all this information is, it wasn't exactly what I was after," Peter said with a terse smile.

Isadora blinked prettily at him. "Oh, would you rather know about his politics? The way he makes war?"

"By the Mane, why would I ever want to enquire after something so helpful?" he said drily. This was becoming tedious. He realised that Isadora was the one with the leverage in this particular situation and, as stubborn as he was, it appeared that the Telmarine girl was as equally stubborn. He did not want to have to say 'please', much like a child asking for a sweetie, but if it got them the answers then he was willing to swallow his pride.

"If your Ladyship would be so kind, my royal siblings and I would be most grateful," he said.

"Oh, I don't know anything about that," she said with her prettiest, blankest smile. "I should have brought my sister along instead of sending her away to hide from the scary intruders. She knows more than I do."

He resisted the urge to groan and put his head in his hands.

"Ghaliya?! She's twelve!" Caspian exclaimed.

"And what is that supposed to mean? I'm eleven!" Lucy said, appearing around the side of her sister.

"Yes, but only physically," Peter said to her.

Isadora ignored that last. "Apparently Ghaliya likes nothing more than hiding behind a hidden panel in the upper galleries of the Council Chambers and eavesdropping on the Council Meetings," she told Caspian. "I can understand some of it, what with all the excitement you've caused recently, but why anyone would willingly listen to Grandfather's report on the annual grain intake from Meadowholt I'll never know."

She sniggered. Caspian's mouth twitched and he made a great show of coughing and wiping his mouth to hide his own laughter.

"This isn't funny," Peter snapped at him. "By the end of the day, your uncle's army will be here. We have half an army and no hope of reaching your friends in Archenland to ask for reinforcements."

He stood and pushed his way past Caspian and Susan but hesitated and turned back.

"It is very likely that we could die. And you are laughing," he said, shaking his head. "You better come up with a plan fast."

"I will," Caspian said fiercely.

The two Queens of Old followed their brother from the little enclave, leaving the cousins alone.

And finally Isadora broke. She sagged down and forward, dragging her hands across her face.

"Caspian, what are you playing at?" she said quietly.

"I'm claiming my throne," he said. She scoffed.

"How is this claiming your throne?" she asked. "You are hiding out in a dusty old tomb with creatures that shouldn't be alive and people who shouldn't exist! You've been disowned by the Council and removed from the line of succession. Right now, my father is probably being crowned King!"

Caspian sighed. "So he's finally done it," he said quietly. His eyes raised to hers. "I know you hold your father in high regard, Dor, but he's not the man you think he is. He sent men to kill me on the night your brother was born and I don't think it was the first time he's tried to end my life. He murdered my father; his own brother! You heard him confess as much!"

"I don't know what I heard," she said, her cheeks flushing.

He shot to his feet and kicked a barrel in frustration. "Why can't you see it?" he roared. She cowered back away from him. Who was this angry stranger? Her cousin had vanished to be replaced once more by the terrifying figure from her parents' bedroom.

"Because my father is a good man!" she stuttered.

"Your father is a murderer!" he shouted back at her. She stared at him, tears welling in her eyes, and she carefully studied his face. Did she even know him any more? They had only been apart for a few days but he had changed beyond recognition.

"You had two years," she said slowly, trying with all her might to stop her voice from shaking. "On your twenty first birthday, you would have been crowned King."

He shook his head and made to leave her alone.

"Think of something, Caspian," she shouted after him. "And think quickly! I can't see a way out of this mess so I hope you can!"

She had never felt so alone. Her life until that point had been a whirl of sisters, cousins, parties, showing off and just general adoration. She had felt so grown up and so worldly wise. The world was her oyster and she was going to chase it with both hands outstretched. But now her parents were far away and she didn't recognise the person she had long called her best friend.

And she was surrounded by Narnians. Creatures she had thought were long dead.

What was she going to do?

"That was quite the performance!" the voice of Queen Lucy called. The younger girl rounded the corner again and jumped onto the barrel her brother had sat on. "Caspian looks like you've shattered all his hopes and dreams."

"Do we have to do this?" Isadora asked, her head still in her hands. "I've been through a lot; I don't want to have to trade wits with someone the same age as my sister."

Lucy was silent for a moment.

"Look at me again, Isadora," she said. Her tone of voice was completely unexpected; regal and commanding. Isadora found herself compelled to obey for one of the first times in her life. She raised her eyes.

What she saw in those blue eyes made her jump and cower back from Lucy.

Her eyes were not the eyes of a child's. They were the eyes of an adult, grim and intelligent, and it was frightening to see them in such an innocent face.

"I am not a child," she said. "I am Queen Lucy the Valiant. Now, Peter is on some stupid self-righteous quest to prove himself as High King, Edmund is keeping his cards to his chest as usual, I cannot even begin to fathom what Susan is currently thinking and, although Caspian showed promise when we first met him, he is currently about as useful as a paper bag. And of course, none of my siblings will listen to me because I am the youngest and they keep forgetting that this child's body does not reflect the mind inside the head.

"I may not look it but I am actually older than you are. I will not tolerate you talking down to me, understand?" she said.

Isadora jerked her head in a nod a few times. This was terrifying, even more so than trying to stare her mother or Delilah down. Maybe it was because Lucy had a divine right to rule whereas they were only consorts.

Lucy smiled, her face softening. "Because I think we could be friends," she said. "I could use a friend and if Caspian trusts you then I will trust you."

"Is this usually how you make friends?" Isadora couldn't help but ask. The young Queen threw back her head and laughed.

"No, not usually," she admitted. "Come on. It is time you saw a little more of our operations than this side-chamber. I'll show you the How."

As they made their way through the corridors and hallways of the How, Lucy chatted amicably with the Telmarine girl. What Isadora did not realise was that everything the Queen asked her was a carefully loaded question. Without knowing it, she quite happily told Lucy many of the things she had been avoiding when talking to Peter.

What Isadora did notice, however, were tiny little things about Lucy herself. Since her physical body was the same age as Isadora's sister, she could not help but compare the two and the differences ran much deeper than Ghaliya's olive complexion and dark hair and Lucy's fair skin and head of gold.

There was far more to Lucy than initially met the eyes. Although she did not realise it for many years, that first conversation between the two laid a foundation of respect in Isadora's mind that would stay standing for the rest of her life.

Soon they had circled through all of the How and were once again in the main chamber.

"Lucy, what are you doing?" Peter asked from behind them. Isadora looked over one shoulder and saw both the Kings. Peter still looked as irritated as he had before but Edmund was watching her with a glint in his eye that almost reminded her of Sopespian.

"I'm showing Isadora around the How. I became quite acquainted with it last night while you were away," Lucy said without looking round at her brothers. "I thought she was a guest, after all, and not a prisoner. Do correct me if I am wrong."

"I think it's a splendid idea," Edmund said, moving forward to join them. "Have you shown her the Stone Table yet?"

"No, I was saving it for last," Lucy replied. "It is the most impressive chamber- why Trumpkin, whatever is the matter?"

The Red Dwarf had come barrelling around the corner at great speed and almost knocked the two kings flying.

"The Stone Table!" he gasped. "Come quick. Nikabrik, the Prince, some Dark trickery-"

The boys drew their swords and followed the panting dwarf as he turned tail and jogged back the way he had come. With a frown, Lucy followed after a moment's pause. Her dagger left its sheath with a well-practiced flick. And despite her current lack of weapons, Isadora could not help but run after them. The horrible pressure was clutching her chest again and she knew it was because of Caspian.

The little group ran past a collection of murals etched into the very walls of the How and rounded a corner. Beyond lay a hollowed out space, the largest Isadora had seen in the How. In the centre was a broken stone structure. She barely noticed it.

The figures circling around it, however, she saw them. Peter took the one on the right, a shrivelled figure wrapped in a cloak with a malevolent eye glinting underneath, and Edmund, Lucy and Trumpkin took the two on the left, an evil-faced Black Dwarf and what could only have been a werewolf.

She froze completely as she saw what lay at the far end of the chamber. A great archway dominated the space and was filled top-to-bottom with the clearest and bluest ice Isadora had ever seen. One could almost mistake it for a window into another realm.

And someone was on the other side of that window. A great and terrible figure, pale as the ice surrounding her, loomed over another figure tiny in comparison that stood before her. Isadora's heart gave a lurch as she recognised Caspian standing there, his palm upraised in some sort of offering, and as she realised that the mysterious woman in the ice was none other than the White Witch.

She didn't even stop to think. Some primal instinct rose up inside of her and she sprinted straight past everyone, straight for Caspian in the odd little circle in the dirt and threw herself between him and the Witch.

" _No!"_ she screeched and spread her arms wide, turning herself into a human shield. Her eyes blazed with hatred and she stared up at the Witch with defiance and zeal burning in her gaze.

For a split second, the Witch's face flickered with doubt. A terrible recognition came into her eyes and her hand slowly retreated back into the ice.

"An Isadora," she breathed, a furrow appearing between her brows. Her head slowly tipped to one side as she stared at Isadora, calculating and evaluating.

Then Peter collided into Isadora and Caspian and pushed both of them with all his might. They were sent sprawling on the compacted dirt of the floor. Isadora found herself pinned beneath Caspian and he himself seemed stunned. As she struggled out from underneath her cousin, she heard the Witch croon, "My dear Peter, how I've missed you…"

The pale white hand pushed through the ice again.

"You know you cannot fight them alone. Just one drop, and my power is yours," the Witch said.

Peter faltered. For the smallest of moments, his shoulders relaxed and his sword began to drop.

The Witch smiled and pushed her arm even further through the ice.

And then a blade plunged through the ice, directly through the Witch's stomach. The spell was broken, the ice came tumbling down, and they were left trying to catch their breaths in the aftermath of the fight.

Edmund stepped through the archway and wrenched a crystal wand from the circle his brother was still standing in.

"You're welcome," he said drily before moving off to check that Lucy and Trumpkin were all right.

Susan, having run as fast as she was able only to arrive at the end of the fight, stood in the doorway and surveyed the scene before her. Although they had faced defeat in their days, it had been rare and Peter had always taken it badly. How could one use the moniker of Magnificent if one felt like a failure? She had already seen him falter after the failed night-raid and it pained her to see him struggle so. As she met his despondent gaze, she made a mental note to have a word with Lucy about him.

Their younger sister, as golden-hearted as the hair on her head, was the only one who could get through to him when he was in such a mood. She was the only one who could make him magnificent once more.

 _Slap!_

The sharp sound in the otherwise silent chamber yanked Susan out of her contemplation of her brother. She focused instead on the two Telmarines in their company, since it was from them that the sound had issued.

Caspian was still on the floor, having only sat up from the position he was sent sprawling in when Peter shoved him away from the Witch. Isadora, however, was on her feet, towering over her cousin in her fury and her hand raised to strike him again.

"I tell you to think of a plan, and _this_ is what you came up with!" she shrieked. "Are you _stupid?_ Do you not remember _anything_ our nurse told us?"

"Well, what choice did I have?" Caspian said grimly, his eyes on the floor. "At every turn I feel like there is another barrier in my way. The Narnians do not fully trust me for I am Telmarine, the Kings and Queens of Old look to me as a failure, and even you have forsaken me."

He paused for a moment. "I honestly thought you would be on my side without question," he said in a voice no louder than a murmur. "But I've lost you to them, haven't I?"

A strange gentleness came over Isadora's face and she slowly knelt before her cousin. Susan was impressed to see such a turn of character – until that moment she had thought the girl to be all flirtatious looks and sassy remarks with little substance underneath.

"I have not forsaken you, Cas," she said quietly. "You have to understand; you are forcing me to choose between you and my father and I do not know if that is a decision I can make yet."

* * *

 **Sorry for the lateness of the chapter! I had more editing work for this one than I thought I did. Thanks to PopRockShawty for again helping out while I was writing it!  
**

 **Thank you to TortoisetheStoryteller and AStarElvenLight2 for the reviews and everyone who follow/favourited. We've passed 1000 views, thank you so much to everyone!**

 **Next chapter is my favourite and I can't wait for you all to read it! If you want a hint as to what happens, Isadora tells a certain story that is very dear to her... ;)**

 **As always, leave me a review and I will see you next time!**


	15. The Tale of Caspian and Isadora

She paced back and forth in the little enclave filled with barrels and tried to calm her panicked breath.

Forward; one, two, three, four, five. Turn; pause. Forward; one, two, three, four, five.

She tried to forget the terrible figure of the Witch, she tried to forget the horror she had seen in the past few days, she tried to clear her mind and think on the situation.

Turn; pause. Forward; one, two, three, four, five.

It was no use. She sank back onto a sack with a sigh. That same desperate feeling that had caused her to throw herself between Caspian and the assassin on Galma all those years ago had manifested once again during the fight with the Witch. There was no other explanation as to why she had pushed in front of Caspian again.

Even now, she was anxiously wanting to fuss him and check to see he was well but he wouldn't let her. He'd gone off instead to be alone with his thoughts.

"Was that your first fight?" Lucy asked tentatively from her barrel. She was still shadowing the Telmarine girl and had been watching her pace back and forth for some ten minutes now.

"Yes," Isadora admitted, her head in her hands. "Wait, maybe not. Oh, I don't know. I barely knew what I was doing. Was it obvious?"

"You did better than I did in mine," Lucy told her. "It was just after we had arrived at Aslan's camp, not far from here actually. The Witch's wolves appeared and surprised myself and Susan. I, only being a small girl at the time, ran for a tree while Susan distracted them and went for her horn to call Peter."

She trailed off as she realised Isadora wasn't listening; not out of rudeness but simply because her own thoughts were so tangled and rambling that she had little capacity for others.

"She called me _An Isadora,_ " she said eventually. " _An._ Why an _An?"_

"Is it a common name?" Lucy asked.

She wrinkled her nose. "No, not really. It is actually quite ridiculously old-fashioned. Mother only named me that because her and Caspian's mother were in cahoots. _Caspian and Isadora,_ I mean, really."

Lucy frowned at her. "Were they important?"

Isadora stared at her. "Of course they were. I know that you may not have known much about the Telmarines in your time but... well, everybody knows Caspian and Isadora's story. I thought maybe someone told it to you?"

The Queen shook her head. "Why don't you tell it to me?" she said with a smile.

Isadora blinked. The story had been her favourite when she was younger. Any child loved a story with a character they shared a name with after all; it made them feel as if they were a part of the story. It had been the one she had always begged the nurse for at bedtime. While Caspian was desperate to know about the Golden Age and the White Witch and the Kings and Queens of Old, she would beg, over and over, night after night, for the story of the First Caspian and Isadora.

Of course, the nurse had been long gone from the castle. The last time Isadora had heard the story was when Ghaliya had been ill a few years ago. Their mother had sat on her sister's bed, stroking her fevered brow, and together they had told her the tale.

Maybe now it would help smooth her confused mind.

"Well," she began slowly. "There was once a brother and a sister. Their names were Caspian and Isadora and they were cabin boys aboard a pirate ship. They had been orphaned in the Old Country and going to sea had been their best option for staying alive. It wasn't easy, the Captain worked all the crew to the bone and, of course, they lived in deathly fear that someone would discover that Isadora was not the boy she was pretending to be. One night, a great storm swept in, seemingly from nowhere, and they and all the crew were shipwrecked on an island. The ship was beyond repair so they set out to explore. By a stroke of luck, it was a wonderful place to be with lots of vegetation, animals and fresh water.

"Caspian and Isadora wandered away from the rest of the crew and found a cave on the far side of the island. Actually, it was more of an opening in the face of a cliff instead of a cave. They were just contemplating exploring it when the storm blew up again. The sea rushed up the beach and swirled around them and they had no choice but to dart into the cave! The water pounded along behind them as they ran, desperately searching for a ledge they could climb onto away from the rising water.

"Suddenly Caspian shouted out; he could see light ahead! He grabbed his sister's hand and pulled her through the waves and out into the sunshine.

"They burst out onto the shores of a beautiful blue lake surrounded by fruit trees. Isadora collapsed by the water, exhausted by the ordeal, but Caspian walked off between the trees to see where they had come out on the island. Imagine his shock when he found that they were surrounded on all sides, not by water, but by sand. They had somehow come out in an oasis in the middle of a great desert!

"He went back to his sister and told her what he had found. As they sat, wondering what they should do, the rest of the crew emerged from the crevice in the rock.

""Ah, what a storm!" the Captain said gruffly. "But this place looks good! We shall stay here for a while. Start gathering some fruit and refill the canteens!"

"At his words, an eagle with feathers of darkest black swooped down from the sky and landed in a tree near Caspian.

""Son of Adam!" it called to him and he jumped. He had never seen a Talking Beast before and he had certainly never been addressed in this way.

""Son of Adam!" the eagle called again. "Do not eat the fruits of this oasis! Do not drink the water of the lake! This place is sacred and anyone who eats or drinks here shall suffer a most painful death!"

"Caspian stood quickly. "Sir, we should look for another place!" he called. "This oasis isn't safe."

"The Captain laughed at him coldly. "Boy, this is one of the finest places I have seen in my entire life. Leave if you will but I shall stay. Anybody who believes the whelp may leave too."

""Come," the eagle said to Caspian. "For your trust, I shall take you to an even better oasis where you can make a life."

"So Caspian set off across the desert, following the black dot of the eagle soaring in the blue sky above him. His sister followed, as did only twenty five others. But the captain and the majority of the crew stayed behind in the oasis... and one could only assume that they died as the eagle predicted.

"The desert was hot and the going slow and they encountered many strange beasts that they had never seen before. Eventually however, they came to some rocky mountains, every one of them. Here was another oasis, even more lavish and beautiful than the first and the mountains would protect it well in the event of bad weather.

"The eagle landed in the yellow sand beside them.

""Here is your new home," it said. "May it bring you prosperity."

""How do we know this is safe? You could have just led us from one death trap to another!" Isadora pointed out.

"With that, the eagle seemed to swell in size. Suddenly, it was no longer an eagle but a great golden lion that roared at them until their very bones shook. And, just as suddenly, it was an eagle again.

""It is safe," was all it said before it flew off.

"Isadora's doubts proved to be completely unfounded. The oasis was a good place to set up home. There was even a village already there. The locals welcomed the pirates with open arms and helped them build huts and learn to hunt. For a while, life was good. Until a stranger came to them.

"This stranger was unlike anybody they had ever met before. She was tall and incredibly beautiful. She had long ash-blonde hair and a dress of white and blue. And when she smiled, it felt like all the heat was being drawn from the world.

"She asked them to join her, said that this was no place for them, that she had a beautiful house filled with anything they could ever want, and all they had to do was follow her."

"Let me guess," Lucy said darkly. "It was the White Witch."

Isadora nodded. "My nurse certainly thought so. This was before the Hundred Year Winter, when the Witch was exiled in the North. It could have been her, it could have been anyone. My mother used to describe her with an abundance of serpent metaphors for some reason – dressed in green, fluid movements, a soft, hissing voice, etcetera – but the more common description is the icy, white one and it's the one I like the most.

"But, as she spoke," she continued, "Caspian and the other men seemed to become enchanted by her. Isadora didn't understand why her brother was so enamoured by this strange woman. She didn't know how to make him snap out of it. Then she saw the black eagle again, out in the sands of the desert.

""Brother," she said, going to Caspian. "Remember the eagle. It led us here to keep us safe and safe shall we stay if we remain! This stranger has nothing to offer us. I feel if we follow her then we shall die."

"But her brother quietened her. Again she pleaded and again he quietened her. He stepped forward towards the stranger.

"With a strangled cry, Isadora threw herself between her brother and the stranger. "You cannot take these men!" she shouted at her.

"The stranger laughed coldly. "And who are you to say, boy? Will you care for them? Tender their every need like a servant? Join me, and you shall live out the rest of your lives in comfort."

""Never!" Isadora cried and swept her hat from her head. Her dark curls tumbled around her shoulders and her secret was unveiled. The eagle soared forward from the dune and landed on her shoulder, its great black wings still spread behind her head.

""You cannot take these men!" she repeated. "They are mine! I shall care for them; I shall be their mother, their sister, their guardian, and they shall never be yours! _They are mine!_ "

"The icy stranger stared at her and then at the eagle upon her shoulder. A flicker of recognition passed across the stranger's face and she took a step back.

""Very well," she said. "I see these men are protected. I shall go. But don't think that they will be safe forever."

""They will be," Isadora said. "For as long as my bloodline lives, my people will be protected."

"The stranger smirked and raised an eyebrow before bowing her head in a show of defeat. In a swirl of skirts, she turned and left the oasis. Six of the pirates, still enchanted, followed her out into the unknown. Where they met their end, we shall never know. But twenty stayed with Isadora, and one of those twenty was Caspian. Her love had broken the enchantments but it was her doubts that made her step forward and voice her concerns. For this, she is sometimes called Isadora the Doubtful. But we remember her doubts and, when other races leap forward without thought of the consequences, we stay back and we doubt as she did."

"But you just said that she didn't stay back," Lucy pointed out.

"I know. I never understood that part but my mother always put it in. It is a true observation of our racial traits though. Some call us mistrustful; we prefer to think of ourselves as cautious."

"But that doesn't make sense!"

"Look, it's just a story alright!" Isadora said hotly. "Isadora may have been real but I doubt she ever faced down a Witch. Even stories from your time must have got skewed into myth?!"

"I'm sorry," Lucy said with a small smile. "Please continue."

"I'm not sure if I want to. Are you going to poke more holes in our heritage?"

"No! Oh, please continue," Lucy begged. "I was enjoying the story!"

Isadora narrowed her eyes at her and continued after a moment's pause.

"In time, Caspian came to be the leader of their little society and his sister stood at his right shoulder, ready to advise him whenever she could. However, famines and droughts had ravaged them and left them perilously close to extinction. They had no choice but to set out once more; except this time it was to find others.

"And find them, they did. The first they encountered were from a country far to the South, a country called Calormen. The Calormenes were searching for a settlement they had made and lost long ago and were most astonished to find our people.

"From that first encounter, and from the Calormenes, did we gain our name. They gave us the name of Telmarine.

"Other nations were found too. A Kingdom of hills and valleys called Archenland; a Kingdom of woods and forests called Narnia. They welcomed those first Telmarines with open arms and bonds of friendship were formed. When Caspian and Isadora met with their friends in their oasis once more, they had forged strong connections with those other lands.

"It was decided, to avoid our fledgling race encountering extinction again, that the twenty-one leaders of our people would become merchants. Caspian was chosen as King over all and styled the Merchant King. Isadora and the other nineteen became his Merchant Lords. They named their new country Telmar and chose a standard of a black eagle against a yellow background.

"Isadora was the one who came up with this design, remembering the Black Eagle amongst the desert sands on the day she had faced the Witch. She knew in her heart that this Eagle was to be the Guardian of the Telmarines until the end of our days.

"And so the Telmarine Nation flourished and grew, and so we shall continue to flourish and grow. We survived desert, witchcraft, famine and trickery. We are the Telmarines, and we shall endure," she finished.

Lucy gazed at her, her chin on one hand.

"Hmm," she said. "That ending is a bit grim."

"It is a very Telmarine story," Isadora laughed. "All our best stories end in the same way."

Lucy continued in her observation. Isadora began to feel a little uncomfortable in the Queen's continued stare.

"Thank you, for sharing the story of your people," she said eventually. "But where do the Weapons come into it? I seem to recall you saying something about you being of the Bloodline of the Bow?"

Isadora frowned. "Well, technically that is a different story," she said slowly.

"Oh, please do tell!" Lucy said. "It has been so long since I heard stories such as these!"

The Telmarine girl smiled and then began the next tale.

"Years passed in Telmar. Isadora married a man of the village, Felix by name, and he came to know his wife better than she knew herself. One day, they decided to climb one of the mountains that protected their oasis. At the summit, they came across the funniest looking man they ever had set eyes upon.

"He was old, fat, and merry-faced, and the apples of his cheeks were as red as his jerkin.

""'Tis a fine day, it is not?" he shouted by way of greeting.

""It is indeed," Isadora answered. "What is your name, friend?"

""My name is Nicholas and I serve the same Master as you," the jolly man answered. "He has sent me with gifts for you, so you know that you are His chosen."

"He hefted onto his lap a sack that had been sitting on the ground beside him. Knowing he spoke the truth, Isadora and Felix led him down into the town. They gathered together the other Merchant Lords and went before Caspian with this stranger. He dug into his sack and drew out four pikes, despite the sack looking nowhere big enough for even one of the weapons.

""These pikes represent your people," he explained as he passed them to four of the Lords. "You may be Lords but you are nothing without your followers. For the Scholars, for the Soldiers, for the Farmers, and for the Merchants, shall you bear these pikes with honour.""

Lucy sat forward with interest as Isadora explained each of the weapons and their significance to the Telmarines. Most were geographical to remind the Telmarines of their wanderings throughout the world. Lucy was amazed that Isadora could remember the details of each Weapon so clearly. For every single one she could name it, state its significance, and even name the Lord it was given to. And the girl kept all the information in her head! Usually such detail had to be recorded in a book to preserve it so clearly.

"Eventually, only Caspian and Isadora were left," Isadora continued. "From his sack, the stranger pulled a bow and quiver. The arrows were fletched with golden feathers and the bow sat so neatly in her hand it felt like it had been made just for her.

""Hark my words, Protector," the stranger said. "You took a vow to protect your King and your people. With this bow, you must never let harm come near them. The arrows will always fly straight and true as long as you are focused."

"She bowed her head in acceptance and stood aside so her brother could accept his present.

"The stranger dug once more in his sack and brought out a dirk. Unlike the other Weapons, it was simple in design. All the other Weapons were embellished with little symbols. The Dirk was plain.

""Beware, Caspian," the stranger said. "You were not chosen as King for your bodily strength but for your ability to lead. On the day you use this Dirk to defend yourself, you will stand alone and crownless. Without your people and without your cunning, you will die. May this Dirk forever serve as a reminder of this."

"His gifts distributed, the stranger swung the sack onto his shoulder and wandered from their town, never to be seen again.

"Years passed and the Telmarines continued to flourish and grow. The original Merchant Lords aged and watched over their nation with pride in their hearts. Of course, peace cannot last forever. One day the terrible figure in white came again and once again offered a life of plenty to anyone who would follow her.

"Isadora grasped for her bow but she was old and her hands were failing her.

""What now?" her enemy taunted as the Telmarines began to move toward her. "You are too old to defend them, Isadora. Your people are mine."

"Then Drinian, eldest son of Isadora and Felix, met his mother's gaze and took the bow from her. He stepped forward and took his place between the icy stranger and his people, exactly as his mother had all those years ago, and drew an arrow.

""I will defend them now," he said.

"And so began my bloodline, the Bloodline of the Defenders. First we defend our King, and then we defend our people," Isadora finished. "And so we shall endure."

Again Lucy was silent. In her mind, she was not sitting in the How. For the briefest of moments, the Valiant Queen was transported back to her Golden Age. She again felt like she had taken a trip to see her beloved Mr Tumnus in his cosy home, as she had done all those years ago, and they had sat together and enjoyed tea and sardines whilst he told her a tale of the Narnia of her youth.

She smiled. Isadora could sense that she wanted to ask more questions, she could see it in her eyes, and prompted her for them.

"Twenty one…" the queen said slowly. "That number comes up a lot."

"Lucky number," Isadora explained. "There were twenty one original leaders; it is said that they wandered in the desert for twenty one days and nights. Nowadays, although you "come of age" at eighteen, allowing you to marry, you cannot inherit properties or titles until you turn twenty one. It's why Caspian isn't King yet.

"In addition to this, both myself and Caspian were born on the twenty first day of our birth months. That's about as lucky a birth as it's possible to have. Caspian will be crowned on his twenty first birthday on the twenty first day of the month."

She paused and her lips and finger moved as she counted something. "And," she added slowly. "If you don't include my father as a legitimate king then that would make Caspian the twenty first king since Caspian the Conqueror."

"Well, you can't get much luckier than that, surely?" Lucy said with a smile. "It's all very regimented."

"Anything to cultivate as much luck as possible," she shrugged. "At the feast afterwards there would be twenty one courses and at the ball there would be twenty one dances."

"Slightly overdone, don't you think?" Lucy laughed, her head tilting to one side.

"Perhaps. I've never really cared much for those sides of the traditions," she said.

"But you believe in the stories?" Lucy asked. "You believe that the Black Eagle led your people to the safety of the oasis? You believe Isadora was the Defender."

Isadora looked down at her hands clasped before her. These stories were more than stories to her. Although she had not spoken them aloud for some years, they had flowed from her memory onto her tongue as easily as her memories of yesterday. They were a part of her.

"Yes," as all she said.

* * *

 **And there you have it, my favourite chapter!**

 **I know in the films it seems like the Telmarines arrived in Narnia shortly after the Pevensies' disappearance but in the FaN universe, they have only been ruling Narnia for 500 of the 1300 years between the Golden Age and Caspian's Age. Twenty one kings may not seem like many in that time, but there have only been 22 English/British monarchs from Henry VII to Elizabeth II, a period of about 500 years. :) This also means that, while Caspian is the most common regal name, not all of our Caspian's forebears had the same name as him.**

 **Thank you to AStarElvenLight2, Wildhorses1492, TortoisetheStoryteller and Ceara Einin for the reviews in the last chapters! Let me know what you thought of this!**


	16. Planning a Proposal

"No," Isadora said.

The discussion halted and they all turned to look at her. She clutched her dressing gown and balled her hands into fists. She could not, would not, let them go through with this plan they were proposing.

"Dor, it might be the only way," Caspian said to her gently. She shot him a filthy look.

In the twilight hours, they had heard in the distance the rumble of the Telmarine war-machines. They had all run outside to watch the army approach across the meadow and Isadora had tried to hide behind Caspian as the figure in the golden armour had ridden forward to face them.

She wasn't sure why she'd done it. Out of shame, possibly? She was certain her father would have seen her (for the golden-armoured figure had been he) since she was still in her nightgown and rather distinctive red dressing gown.

Here she was, not knowing whether she should stay with Caspian or return to her family, and feeling like a traitor with every sway she made. A move one way and she betrayed the people and culture who raised and nurtured her; a move to the other, she betrayed Caspian and the strange desire to protect him that even now gnawed at her insides.

She felt alone, even surrounded here by the Narnians. One moment she would be with Caspian; the next he had vanished and had been replaced by the stranger again.

As the Telmarines withdrew for the evening to make camp by the river, Peter had called a meeting. They had been here for hours trying to come up with a plan and the best they had was some hare-brained scheme to send Lucy off into the woods while the rest of them held off the Telmarines.

And Caspian had just said he knew a way. Isadora knew exactly what he was about to propose.

"Caspian, please continue," Peter said.

"There is an old duelling etiquette amongst our people," her cousin explained. "A one-on-one fight, usually to the death. If you were to challenge Miraz I am certain he would have to accept it or risk looking like a coward before the other lords."

"My father is not a coward!" Isadora spat. "But he would never agree to the duel anyway; no-one has used it in generations! Or have you forgotten, Cas, that the last to use it was a traitorous general of Lorenzo III. The King won the fight and the rebellion was swiftly put to bed."

"Do you have a better idea?" he asked hotly. She pouted but stayed silent.

Caspian turned back to Peter. "If you challenge him publicly, he would probably bow to the pressure from the Lords and agree to the terms. You will need three Marshals to adjudicate the fight to ensure it is fair."

Isadora squirmed in her seat.

"Don't think Father won't pick men who are fiercely loyal to him, which means Glozelle!" she blurted out. "A man who would die for the name of Telmarine; a man with years of military prowess who earned his title of General!"

Peter shut his eyes and composed himself before turning back to the Telmarine girl. She was being most unhelpful. He would forgive her negativity if only she would offer something in return but she refused to say anything about her father. All she was doing was poking holes in their plan and his patience was fast wearing thin.

"And we do not have military prowess?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"I'm sure my lady did not mean offence," Cornelius interjected smoothly before the two could begin to bicker once more. "Glozelle is indeed one of the most skilled warriors in the Telmarine Army. He spent his youth defending our country's borders and also fought alongside Caspian and Isadora's fathers and grandfathers, along with a number of the other Lords you may face tomorrow, in the Calormene Conflict approximately twenty years ago."

"I remember that from lessons," Caspian said. "That was the war where our grandfather, Caspian VIII, died and my father took the throne."

"Well remembered, my Prince," the old tutor said with a nod of his head. "If we are to assume that Lady Isadora's prediction of her father choosing Lord Glozelle as one of his marshals is correct, we can go on to predict he will select the Lords Sopespian and Scythley as the others. They too fought in the Conflict and are completely loyal to the Crown. Although I have no doubts of your majesties' capabilities, I would not underestimate the Telmarine Lords."

Isadora shook her head. "Father and Grandfather hate each other," she said. "Even if Father asked, I don't think Grandfather would agree to it. Sopespian might agree to it but he definitely marches to the beat of his own drum."

"But do you think your father would agree to the proposal?" Peter asked.

She paused again and stared down at her fists still clenched upon her lap.

"Maybe," she said eventually. As they turned away from her again and began to work out the ins and outs of the plan, she sank forward and put her head in her hands. Lucy moved across the room from where she had been sitting and put a hand on her shoulder.

"There must be another way," Isadora said to her, quietly. "There has to be something we can do! How can sending you and Susan off by yourselves going to help anybody?"

"If our plan succeeds, then nobody should have to fight at all," Lucy told her gently.

Isadora stared up at her, her eyes as a wide as a child's. "Really?" she whispered. "Oh Lucy, you can say that? If this works then my father won't have to fight? He might... he might live?"

Her shoulder began to tremble under Lucy's fingers and the Queen became aware that the girl was only a few moments away from crying.

"Please, Lucy," she begged. "Please tell me my father will be safe."

"I can't promise you anything," Lucy said sadly. "I don't know what will happen. Help us, and maybe you can save him."

The effect upon her was electric. She sat up straight, wiped away the beginnings of her tears, and turned her attention back to the conversation happening in the rest of the room.

"All this planning is well and good but how do I get close enough to the Telmarines to deliver the proposal?" Edmund was asking.

"If you carry a white flag then they will let you pass," she said and then hesitated. "And," she stammered, "I guess I could come with you as well. The scouts will most likely be the castle guards and they all know me by sight. They'll let you pass safely."

The Kings of Old exchanged a look.

"Excellent. Now, I suggest you all go get some rest," Peter said. "Tomorrow is likely to be a very long day. Ed, Caspian, Professor, stay with me a while and help me draw up this proclamation, if you will."

* * *

 **Apologies for the shorter chapter but it is sandwiched between two longer ones so hopefully it will all balance out!**

 **Thank you to Tortoise the Storyteller, Wildhorses1492, AStarElvenLight2, and ettaex for the reviews last chapter. As always, leave me another letting me know what you think!**


	17. Betrayal

They left at dawn; Isadora wrapped in her dressing gown once more with Edmund beside her in full armour and the pair of them flanked by a centaur named Glenstorm and a giant called Wimbleweather who she had gathered were two of Peter's Marshals.

She had not spent much time with the younger Narnian King and, to tell the truth, she found him far more intimidating than his blue-eyed brother. Lucy had described him as holding his cards close to his chest and she could not think of a more apt description. The only person she could possibly compare him to was Lorrin, the equally intimidating and equally difficult to read son of Lord Sopespian.

"Sire," she began as they trod threw the dew-laden grass.

He chuckled. "No need to be quite so formal, Isadora. You may call me Edmund."

"Edmund," she said slowly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can."

"Well. Everything is rushing to a head, isn't it? My father and your brother might duel which will result in one of their deaths. There may or may not also be a battle in which Caspian will either emerge as a victorious king or as just another dead rebel in our long and rather bloody history."

"True," he said, nodding his dark head.

"And I am going to have to choose a side. My father or Caspian. The decision is getting closer and closer and I still don't know who I am going to choose."

"Again, true."

"So, to someone I am about to become a traitor. And I know my betrayal cannot compare in any way to yours but… how did you cope with being the traitor?" she asked.

He tipped his head to one side. "It's not easy," he said. "If I'm honest, learning to cope with the guilt was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do."

"How did you cope?"

"Forgiveness," he said with a small smile. "Forgiveness from my siblings, forgiveness from Aslan. Telmarines believe in the Black Eagle, right?"

She nodded. "But no-one has seen the Eagle for centuries. The last time it came to us was when it led Caspian the Conqueror to Narnia."

"Just as Aslan only comes to us when we are truly in need, then," he noted as they drew close to the woods on the other side of the meadow. "Do as the Eagle would want you to do. Lucy was telling me about your people's stories – what do you think the First Isadora would have done?"

"Halt! Identify yourselves!" a voice called from between the trees. Three guards emerged from the woods, their crossbows firmly aimed at the four of them and all their eyes upon the towering figure of Wimbleweather the giant.

"I am Isadora, daughter of King Miraz," she said, stepping forward. "This is King Edmund of the Golden Age of Narnia and his lieutenants, Glenstorm and Wimbleweather. They have come to negotiate with the King on behalf of Prince Caspian and High King Peter."

"Ooh, and I'm the Duke of Galma," the guard on the left said. "You don't look nothing like His Majesty's precious Turtle Dove. I seen her at court and she got much better tits than you."

Isadora's mouth dropped open and then she wrapped her dressing gown tighter around her, her cheeks flushing.

"I _am_ Lady Isadora Orellana of House Scythley and if you do not let us pass then when my father finds out I will have you all flogged!" she said, drawing herself to her full height. "I refuse to pander to the mockeries of the likes of you!"

"Yeah right, love," the guard replied. "Pull the other one."

"That's quite enough of that!" a fourth voice snapped as its owner came storming out of the trees. Isadora's heart sunk a little as she recognised Lorrin. She had been hoping for at least Glozelle or her grandfather.

"You will return to your posts. I have been instructed to deal with the envoys from here," he said coldly and waited until the three of them had slunk off. Then, he turned back to Isadora and her companions with that cunning little smile that reminded her so of his father.

"M'lady. Or, should I know say, m'princess. How nice of you to return to us," he said.

"Very amusing," she said shortly. "Edmund, this is Lorrin, son of Lord Sopespian and heir to Beruna."

"Sire," Lorrin said with a small bow. "I trust you are finding the How quite accommodating. I spent many happy afternoon of my childhood hiding out there to avoid the wrath of my father and the tyranny of my older sisters."

"It is an excellent hiding place," Edmund agreed. "Unfortunate for us that you found us. I am here to speak with the Usurper Miraz."

Lorrin lifted an eyebrow. "The King has convened in his pavilion with my lord father and the others. They await your arrival," he said formally. "If you would follow me?"

He led them between the trees and into a clearing filled with activity. In the distance, Isadora saw the black and gold pavilion of the Kings. Lorrin turned back to them with a smile.

"If the centaur and the giant could please wait here? I will personally assure that no harms comes to you within the camp," he said.

Edmund nodded. "Excellent," he said and exchanged a look with Glenstorm.

As the Narnian King moved off towards the pavilion, Isadora grabbed Lorrin's arm.

"What the hell are you playing at?" she growled.

He looked hurt. "Calm down. We're on the same side, aren't we?"

"How do you know which side I am on?" she said.

"Because you want the same thing I do, or so I thought," he replied mysteriously and pulled his arm from her grasp. "Go on. Your father is waiting for you."

She studied his face carefully for a moment before hurrying after Edmund. He had already been shown into the pavilion and was now standing in front of her father and the other Lords.

Miraz looked visibly relieved as his daughter appeared but turned his attention back to Edmund.

"Let's hear this then," he said, gesturing to the other king with a hand.

Edmund unfurled the scroll in one smooth movement and cleared his throat.

" _I, Peter, by the gift of Aslan, by election and by conquest, High King of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Emperor of the Lone Islands, in order to prevent the abominable effusion of blood, do hereby challenge the usurper Miraz to single combat upon the field of battle. The fight shall be to the death. The reward shall be total surrender,"_ he read.

He grinned at the assembled lords and then began to roll up the scroll.

"So, Prince Edmund," Miraz began.

"King," he interrupted. "I am King Edmund. The Just. Just a king, too. Peter's the High King. I know it can be a bit confusing with all these kings running about."

Isadora bit the inside of her cheek and looked down at the carpets to avoid laughing. Edmund was grinning to himself, clearly pleased with his little joke, but all the Telmarines looked distinctly unamused.

"Why would we risk such a proposal when we completely outnumber you? We could wipe you out by nightfall if we so wish," Miraz said.

"Peter understands this and so, as a token of good faith and in hope that you will accept the challenge, he has restored your daughter to you," Edmund said.

Isadora's head snapped round and she stared at him openly. She had known nothing of this. This must have been their plan all along to get her out of the way. Her choice, Caspian or her father, had been made for her by others.

No! Now that she knew she was stuck here, every bone in her body screamed at her to turn tail and run for the How and Caspian.

"Besides," Edmund was continuing. "Have you not underestimated us already? Only a week ago, Narnians were extinct and my siblings and I were merely a legend. Yet here I am and my people await an answer."

Miraz's face darkened. "And you will be heading right back into legend before the day is out, I can assure you," he said.

"If you are so confident then you should have nothing to fear," Edmund immediately countered.

"This is not a question of bravery," Miraz snarled, sitting forward.

"So you are bravely refusing to fight a swordsman half your age?" Edmund said, an eyebrow raised. "We were informed that you were quite the fighter in your youth. Isadora has sung your praises like a loyal little nightingale."

"Have you now, Turtle Dove?" her father said coldly. He glared back at Edmund. "And I said nothing about refusing."

Isadora wished quite fervently for the carpets to swallow her up. The tension in the tent was rising by the minute and her cousin Gregoire did not do anything to help the matter.

He leaned forward to look down the table at Miraz and said in a voice filled with naivety and self-importance, "You shall have our support, your Majesty, whatever your decision may be."

As Miraz glared at him, his face slowly reddening, Sopespian took the opportunity to lean back in his chair.

With that lovely smirk he and his son shared, he languidly said, "The size of our forces alone allows us to avoid-"

Her father leapt to his feet, his face now turning an ugly purple colour. "I am not avoiding anything!" he snapped.

Sopespian met his gaze coolly. "I was merely pointing out that you are well within your rights to refuse, sire," he said, his grin widening.

"His Majesty would never refuse such a challenge," Glozelle said from his position behind Isadora and Edmund. "He relishes the opportunity to demonstrate to his people his prowess on the battlefield."

A fresh shadow passed over Miraz's face and he glared first at Glozelle and then at Sopespian still smirking beside him. Isadora realised that he was trapped. He had, for once, been out-manoeuvred by those around him and now he only had one option before him.

He pointed at Edmund.

"Pray your brother's sword is sharper than his pen," he snarled. "We shall be there at noon."

Edmund returned his glare with a dashing smile and bowed. "Splendid," he said. "We shall be waiting. Farewell, your Majesty, my lords."

And with that, he turned and left. Isadora scuttled after him quickly before someone could stop her.

"Are you really going to leave me here?" she demanded, catching up to him as he neared where Lorrin, Glenstorm, and Wimbleweather waited.

"Yes. We promised your father we would return you to him. We can't go back on our word now," he said.

"But… but…" she stammered. "What you said on the way here… you've made my choice for me!"

He gave her a long, hard look so reminiscent of the terrible look Lucy had given her that she had to stop herself from taking a step backwards.

"If you really think that then go back to the castle and back to your daydreams," he said harshly. "Forget all you have seen and all we have tried to show you and just sit and wait for us to reach an outcome. You could make things easier overall but we can manage without you, let me assure you."

He turned away from her and nodded to Glenstorm and Wimbleweather. As they moved off back in the direction of the How, Lorrin cleared his throat. Edmund glanced back.

"Forgive me, sire," the Telmarine said, "but I just wanted to say how much of an honour it was to meet you. Caspian wasn't the only one to grow up with tales of your reign."

The Narnian King hesitated and then held out a hand. Lorrin clasped it.

"A shame we might have to face one another on the battlefield," Edmund said. "May the Eagle guide your path – I believe that was the farewell the Telmarine ambassadors used in our day?"

"A little archaic now but I suppose it fits," Isadora muttered.

"And may the Eagle guide yours," Lorrin replied.

Edmund turned once more and walked off after his companions, leaving the two Telmarines in the middle of the camp. Miraz, Sopespian, and Scythley had left the pavilion behind them and came to join them.

"Lorrin, see they head straight for the How, would you?" Sopespian said. "We don't want them to take any detours."

"Yes, Father," Lorrin said obediently and walked off.

"And as for you, Dor, go and rest a while," Miraz said. "You must have had a frightening few days."

"They treated me very well, actually," she said absently. Her father frowned.

"Even so, the sooner we get you back to the castle, the better. Glozelle will organise a small retinue of guards to accompany you and you can be on your way before the morning is out."

"But then I won't see the duel," she said.

"Dor, you don't want to be there for that," he sighed. "It's men's business. It will be brutal and bloody and your mother would have a fit if she knew you were anywhere near it."

She had been staring at him incredulously as he spoke but something made her look over at her grandfather. Scythley had been oddly quiet in the pavilion. She had expected him to maybe say something or make some kind of protest but he had said nothing. Even now he was silent, but he was watching her with the most peculiar look in his eye.

"I want to see the fight," she said firmly, returning her attention to Miraz.

"And I say you won't," he retorted.

She suddenly became aware of how foolish he looked in his armour. He didn't look like a soldier, like Glozelle or Edmund did. He looked like a politician who had taken a wrong turn and ended up on a battlefield. In that moment, her little-girl illusion of him shattered and for the first time she saw him for exactly what he was; only a man.

Although she still loved him dearly, for he was her father and he always would be, in that moment she made a crucial decision.

The decision she had been pondering ever since the night of the Raid.

"I must always go where my King bids me," she said to him, and over his shoulder her grandfather's eyes widened.

"Good girl," Miraz smiled.

"I'll escort Isadora to your tent, sire," Scythley said quickly.

He nodded and smiled at her once more before heading back into the pavilion with Sopespian.

"Quick, but don't make it look suspicious," Scythley said to her in a low voice. She hurried along beside him.

"You intend to re-join Caspian and the Narnians, correct?" her grandfather said as they walked quickly towards the tents of the Lords.

"Yes," she said. He nodded.

"You can change in my tent; my squire's spare armour should fit you well enough," he said. "And when you head back to the How, circle around through the woods and come to the How from the West; we have fewer scouts posted there."

They arrived at his tent. Inside, he found her a spare pair of trousers and a shirt before ducking out momentarily to allow her to change. When he joined her again, he was carrying a smaller hauberk and a new quiver of bolts for her crossbow.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked as he helped her adjust the armour.

"Because it is imperative we get you back where you belong; at Caspian's side," he said. "If this whole mess turns into a battle, make sure you stay with the archers if you can. You have been blessed with our family's natural ability to shoot but your hand-to-hand ability is poor."

"Understood," she said. "But I still don't understand why you are helping me?"

He paused.

"You are not sure why but you feel a strong compulsion to protect Caspian," he said softly and she stared at him, her eyes wide. "I am guessing you have always felt it," he continued. "It is stronger than the bonds of family you hold for him; stronger than any feeling he has for you. I know, because I have felt it twice. First, for your other grandfather, Caspian VIII. He was my best friend and I loved him as a brother; always by his side and willing to give my life for his in a heartbeat if I could. I then felt it again when Caspian's father took the throne but it was different; I looked at him as a son and I strove to advise him as best I could so he could become an even greater man than his own father.

"I wondered, when he died, why the feeling did not manifest for Caspian. But I understand now it was because you had already been born. For some reason, the Black Eagle has chosen you to be Caspian's Defender. You are his Isadora and there is not a force in this world that can stop you from going to him."

From around his neck he drew the chain with the keys to the Weapons Chamber on it and lifted it over his head.

"Here," he said, placing it over hers. "If I had the Bow with me, I'd give it to you as well. You are the Lady of the Bow now. Go defend your King."

She wiped away a stray tear angrily. "Come with me," she pleaded.

"I wish I could but I have to stay here. If Caspian's revolution fails, you will be classed as a traitor alongside him; your father managed to spin you as a victim of kidnapping before. I need to stay with your father to protect your mother and your sisters, you understand?" he told her. Fear grasped her heart to think of it. Her dear, sweet mother; little Marisela; Ghaliya with who she had only just began to cultivate a real relationship. The baby. Oh, what would happen to the baby?

"May the Eagle guide your path," she said shakily, remembering Edmund's archaic farewell to Lorrin and herself.

"And yours," he said, cupping her cheek as if she was no bigger than Marisela. "And I pray that we both make it through this debacle unscathed."

He saw her to the edge of the camp and then she was off, running through the undergrowth with her head low to avoid being seen. For one moment, her injured leg decided to give a last burst of pain and she was forced to stop for a moment, hidden in the bracken. Just as she was ready to set off again, she heard the crash of someone approaching and ducked down further.

It was Lorrin, clearly headed back to camp. He paused a moment by where she was hidden and she became as still as a rock, terrified he had spotted her. He grinned, that strange cryptic smirk, and then he shook his head and continued on his way.

With a shaky breath, she set off again. It did not take long for her to circle around the meadow and arrive back at the How. Her arrival had been spotted by the Narnian scouts and Peter, Edmund, and Caspian were already waiting for her.

"You are back, I see," Peter said to her, his eyes inspecting her armour.

"Yes, and I have three requests," she said as she marched up to them. "One, you do not send me back. Two, you allow me to watch the duel. Three, no matter what happens, if we win then I want you to spare my grandfather."

"Scythley?" Caspian said with surprise. "Not your father?

"I know I can't ask you to spare him, I understand that now. But Grandfather has fought your side wherever he could and I swear he would be here himself if he did not have to protect my mother and sisters," she said. "Caspian, please."

"I'll see what I can do," he promised. The Narnian Kings exchanged a look and then Peter nodded and made for the How.

"Welcome back," Edmund said, winking at her before turning to follow his brother.

"I'm surprised you came back," Caspian said.

She smiled at him. "I'm your Isadora. You would have to kill me to get me to leave you."

* * *

 **Ooh, we're rushing to a head, aren't we? Thanks to Wildhorses1492, AStarElvenLight2 and TortoisetheStoryteller for your reviews last chapter!  
**

 **Lormundforbrotp *coughs***

 **Anyway, remember how Lorrin said he knew the How? I have a small one-shot I intend to put up some time this week (I'm thinking Wednesday but don't hold me to that) which should explain a few things. ;) It will be called _Smoke_ so keep an eye out for it.**


	18. To the Beat of Sopespian's Drum

"Do you think they are all right?" Caspian asked for what seemed like the eighth time. Isadora rolled her eyes.

"I'm sure Susan can handle herself," she said.

He shifted nervously from foot to foot. "But what would they do if Miraz's scouts saw them?"

"Maybe she would defend them with that handy bow she carries everywhere?" she snapped. He completely missed her sarcasm.

"I think I should follow them," he said firmly.

"Eagle feathers!" she exclaimed as he began to walk off. "You choose _now_ to develop an interest in a girl?!"

"May I remind you that the duel is only a cover for the real plan?! If Lucy doesn't get through the woods then we are in serious trouble here!" Caspian reminded her. "I'd feel more comfortable knowing they were safe."

"Then why don't you go rescue them like a knight in shining armour?" she said, her every syllable rippling with sarcasm. She didn't understand The Plan. She hadn't really been paying attention before and all she had garnered was that Lucy had to get somewhere. The two queens had apparently left shortly before her return to the How.

He either missed her second round of sarcasm or ignored it.

"I'll be back as fast as I can," he said, hurrying off.

"Eagle feathers!" she exclaimed again. "Impossible child!"

As he rode off into the woods, she rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the approaching army. They were supposed to be greeting the Telmarine party together but it now looked like she would do it alone.

She was standing on a little stone structure in front of the How. It was a perfect little ring, almost as if it had been designed for such an event as a duel, and each of the Marshals would have a clear view of the fight. Herself and Edmund (and Caspian before he had cleared off) were also going to watch.

As she watched the army roll across the meadow once more, the smallest tendrils of fear snagged at her heart. She hoped there would be no battle after this. Every bone in her body was willing her father to survive, not that she exactly wanted Peter to die either, and she was scared that one side would retaliate at the announcement of a winner.

From the depths of the army, four figures emerged and made their way across the meadow. As they neared, she adjusted her stance so it was more dominant. Feet apart, chest open, hands clasped behind her back.

Glozelle and Sopespian she expected, they were both supporters of her father at court, but Gregoire was a surprise. She had heard, from courtly gossip and Ghaliya's spying eyes, that her cousin was something of a natural when it came to swordsmanship but he was so young that she was shocked to see him with his elders. The strings he must have pulled and the ladders he must have climbed to be there.

Her father looked livid. She tried to ignore him, instead focusing on Glozelle.

"Welcome, my Lords," she said to them. "High King Peter will be joining us shortly."

"How nice it is to have a familiar face greet us," Sopespian noted as he set down a small chair for her father.

"I am very disappointed, Isadora," Miraz spat.

Although she kept her face as neutral as possible, inside her heart gave a horrible pang.

"I know," was all she replied.

Behind her, the Narnians began to cheer. She looked over her shoulder and then stood to one side so they could watch Peter and Edmund approach. From behind her, she heard her father hiss, "If it appears to be going poorly…"

"Understood, sire," she heard Glozelle answer. Her head snapped around and she saw the crossbow in the General's hands. He shifted uneasily at the intensity of her stare and quickly came over to speak to her.

"Isadora, why are you doing this?" he asked. "You are wearing our armour, you carry our weapons, why side with them?"

"Caspian has sided with them," she replied. "I must stay with my King. As should you, my Lord."

She pulled her shirt to one side slightly so he could see the key chain around her neck. His eyes widened slightly and his hand involuntarily stroked his chest. She knew that under his own shirt lay a similar chain upon which hung one key identical to her own and one which opened the case that held the Pike of the Soldiers.

"I'm sorry, Dor, but it's too late," he said and walked back to her father and the others. She sighed and then joined Edmund.

Peter and Miraz drew their swords and stepped into the odd little stone ring, to great cheers from both watching armies.

"What was that about?" Edmund asked her as they circled each other.

"I was appealing to the better judgement of the weakest link," she said. She and Edmund winced as the Kings came together in a crash of steel.

"By the Lion, Pete, that was sloppy," he muttered. He cast her a side-long glance and noted her suddenly paled face, her balled hands. "Calm," he said. "This isn't going to get any easier."

She looked at him with wide, fearful eyes. "They're going to kill each other!" she moaned.

"Pray to Aslan that that doesn't happen then," he replied shortly. "I've seen enough duels to know that this is going to be incredibly dirty."

His prediction came true barely a few moments after the words had left his lips as Miraz attempted to ram his shield full into Peter's head.

Isadora clutched her hands together and tried not to squeal with every clash and ring of weapons on armour and every grunt of exertion and pain. A tiny squeak did escape her as Miraz again tried to ram his shield into Peter and this time knocked the younger man's helmet clean off. Another swing of his sword and Peter's chainmail hood had fallen back but he saw an opportunity and darted in to slice at Miraz's leg as the Telmarine swung too wide.

Her father stumbled back and stared at his Lords, waiting for them to react. They did not and he had no choice but to look back at Peter. The Narnian King dug his feet into the ground and spat at him, awaiting the next move.

The next sequence happened so fast that Isadora could barely register it. One moment they were together, then Peter was on the ground, and then Miraz too had fallen but Peter was on his feet again.

Isadora couldn't help but react then. She was so certain Peter was about to deliver the death blow while her father was on the ground that instinctively grabbed Edmund's arm in a panic. The other King shot her a look and then returned his grim gaze to the spectacle before them.

But Peter had faltered and was staring off into the distance. Isadora heard the thunder of hooves across the grass and turned to see Caspian returning with Susan behind him on the horse. They looked a little shaken but otherwise seemed unharmed.

"Does His Majesty require a respite?" she heard her father snarl, moving her attention back to the duel.

"Five minutes?" Peter asked.

"Three!" Miraz immediately countered.

They held face for a moment and then both slouched away. Edmund ran to help Peter as Susan and Caspian reached where he had been standing with Isadora. Caspian laid a hand on Isadora's shoulder and she looked round at him with fear in her eyes.

"Lucy?" Peter asked as he staggered back towards them.

"She got through," Susan answered him.

Isadora left them and hurried across to the Telmarine party.

"Father, this is madness!" she said. "Please withdraw! I beg you!"

"Quiet!" Miraz snapped. "This is exactly why I did not want you watching!"

He leaned back in his chair and observed the Narnians as Glozelle attended to his injured leg.

"How does he look to you?" he asked his men, his eyes on Peter leading the Narnians in a cheer.

"Young," Sopespian grinned and shrugged his shoulders as Miraz shot him a filthy look.

"And yet His Majesty is doing exceptionally well for his age," Glozelle said as he pulled on the knot of the bandage. Miraz gave a cry of pain and shoved his general away.

"Father," Isadora pleaded. She reached out a hand to him but he shied away from her touch. "Father, please don't do this."

He looked up at her and she was surprised to see a flash of hurt in his eyes. "This is men's business," he said, repeating his words from the camp.

She made to go but bent and kissed his temple at the last moment.

"I'm sorry, Father," she said, her voice thick.

He did not even look at her.

She bit her lip to stop herself from crying and walked away from him with a heavy heart. Just as she reached the Narnians again, Edmund pressed a hand down on Peter's shoulder and popped his obvious dislocation back into place. It went back with a sickening crunch that made them all wince and Peter grit his teeth in pain.

"Save it for later," Edmund muttered to him. "Concentrate on the task at hand."

Clearly they had been having their own little discussion.

Peter got back on his feet and gave his arm a little practice swing. He took his sword from Caspian and stepped forward to meet Miraz once again. This time, both Kings left their heads unprotected. Both were keen to see the end of the fight.

The following clashes were even dirty than before. Isadora had never seen anybody look so berserk as the two men grappled. They knocked each other down, they wildly swung their weapons, they threw their shields at each other, only caring about causing as much damage to their opponent as they possibly could.

Even when Miraz had Peter pinned against a rock, the younger man batted away his blows with his gauntlets only to deliver his own deadly strike with one armoured fist down onto Miraz's earlier injury.

Isadora gave a little moan of fear and involuntarily took a step forward as her father staggered backwards.

"Respite!" he gasped as Peter loomed over him.

"Now is not the time to be chivalrous, Peter!" Edmund shouted to his brother as Peter paused.

Isadora took another little step forward and felt Caspian's hand upon her shoulder. She stared at Peter, beseeching him to be merciful.

He looked down at Miraz with disgust but lowered his hand and began to make his way back to them.

Miraz stayed on the ground for a moment but suddenly shot to his feet and turned on Peter's unprotected back, the Narnian King's sword Rhindon in his hand.

Isadora screamed as Peter wrested the sword from Miraz's hands and plunged it into the weak spot in his armour. Miraz's entire body jolted and then he fell to his knees in front of his opponent.

" _Father_!" she yelled and tried to run for him but Edmund caught her and held her back.

"Wait," he said. She feebly tried to shake him off but he held on grimly.

"What's the matter, boy? Too cowardly to take the life of another?" her father was saying, his eyes blazing as he stared up at the High King.

Peter hesitated and then lowered his sword.

"It is not my life to take," he said, and offered the hilt of Rhindon to Caspian.

Isadora struggled once more against Edmund as her cousin took the blade. Yet still the Narnian King refused to release her and she was forced to watch, helpless, as Caspian raised the sword.

Her father smiled up at his nephew.

"I guess I was wrong," he murmured. "It would seem like you have the makings of a true Telmarine King after all…"

Caspian's hands began to shake. His scream of anger tangled with Isadora's cry of fear as Rhindon's blade arced through the air and hit a tuft of grass right in front of Miraz.

"Perhaps," Caspian said softly in the moment of quiet that followed, "but I will never be one like you."

He took a step back. "You may keep your life; but I am giving the Narnians back their kingdom."

And with that, he turned his back on his uncle and Edmund finally let Isadora go.

"Thank you," she said to Caspian, her eyes brimming with fresh tears.

"I didn't do it for you," he said.

Nevertheless, something unspoken passed between them and Isadora threw her arms around his neck.

As she clung to him, her eyes drifted over his shoulder.

Sopespian had hauled her father to his feet. She watched as the Lord drew something red from his boot and stabbed it into Miraz.

Caspian felt her arms tighten around his neck and heard a tiny intake of breath.

"No…" Isadora said in a tiny voice.

She watched, wide-eyed, as her father crashed to the ground again. Only this time an arrow was sticking out of his body; the feathers as red as freshly spilled blood. Sopespian looked around and met Isadora's disbelieving stare.

He smiled – that horrible, cunning smirk – and then rearranged his features into a face of shock.

"Treachery!" he yelled.

Glozelle, who had been on the verge of leaving, turned and saw the body of Miraz lying on the slabs. He spurred his horse back towards the army; Sopespian following close behind with a cry of, "They murdered our King! To arms!"

"No," Isadora repeated.

Gregoire had turned at Sopespian's words and, glancing between the fallen body of Miraz and Peter, had charged the Narnian Kings with all the fervour and conviction of youth. However, he was no match for Peter. The King met him and beheaded him in two quick blows.

Peter turned back to see Isadora being held back by both Edmund and Caspian. Her pretty face had transformed into a picture of pure anger. Her teeth were clenched, her breath was coming in short, sharp bursts, and her eyes burned with a loathing and a madness that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand-up.

"Dor, Dor, listen to me!" Caspian was saying.

The girl did not hear a word. She strained against them and actually caused them to move a step; such was the strength of her wrath. Peter could have sworn he heard her snarl " _Kill,"_ in between her strange rasping breaths.

"Turtle Dove!" Caspian cried as she fought against them again. Her face flickered from hatred to shock to misery and she sagged against them. Down went her head; her dark hair falling across like a curtain to mask her face.

Caspian and Edmund exchanged a look and then slowly released her. She fell to her knees, her head still forward.

"We need to move," Peter said, scanning the distant Telmarine army. Glozelle and Sopespian had now reached them and they were preparing for the first assault.

"We can't just leave her like this," Caspian said, indicating his cousin prone on the ground.

"I don't think we have much of a choice," Edmund said, moving to join his brother. "Caspian, you should go get in position."

Caspian paused and then reached down to haul Isadora back to her feet. She held out a hand to stop him and stood by herself. She raised her head and pushed her hair back off her face. Her eyes, still hurt and shrouded by anger, stared off at the now approaching Telmarine cavalry.

"Sopespian is mine", she said grimly and then turned to enter the How.

The three men exchanged a look and then nodded to each other. Caspian ran towards his waiting horse and spurred it into the How while Peter and Edmund grimly faced down the oncoming army.

Events had spiralled out of their control and it was all down to the masterful manipulation of Lord Sopespian. Here they were, moving to the beat of his drum, little puppets all twitching together in a macabre dance of his invention.

* * *

 **Hello! Sorry for the delay in this chapter, things are getting a bit hectic for me. Unfortunately, I will only be able to update each of the remaining chapters as I finish them, hope you all understand!**

 **Sidenote - how kickass is the chapter title?!**

 **Thanks to TortoisetheStoryteller, nat399 and the guest for reviewing last chapter! See you next time!**


	19. Feathers Black

"Dor!" Caspian shouted.

She turned and watched him ride towards her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, reigning in the horse beside her.

"No," she answered truthfully, "but I can still fight. I'm yours now. Completely."

The How gave a judder. The catapults must have begun to fire; they could both feel the impact of each boulder as it slammed into the ground and sent shockwaves rippling out.

"Stay safe," he said, and then spurred his horse down into a lower level of the How.

She turned and ran up a ramp towards the outer levels of the How. In the antechamber, her eyes fell upon a spare bow and a quiver of arrows. She skidded to a halt and her fingers stroked down the crossbow on her back. Without any hesitation, she reached down and grabbed the bow and arrows instead and then hurried out to join Susan.

The Queen looked at the bow in her hands with raised eyebrows.

"Can you use that?" she asked as Isadora shrugged off the crossbow and placed it by her feet.

"I've used one a few times. I'll be fine," she replied. She paused as she noticed Susan's quiver of arrows, filled with the blood red feathers. Her brow furrowed but she turned her eyes back towards the Telmarine cavalry.

" _When they raise arms against us, then they shall become our foe,_ " Trumpkin muttered from beside her, quoting the words she had spoken to him when he was imprisoned.

She ignored him, instead whipping an arrow from her quiver and obeying Susan's shout to take aim.

Something deep inside her shifted and, for one brief moment, she was transported elsewhere. She could have sworn that it was sand beneath her feet, and not stone, and she could smell horses and spices as clearly as if she stood amongst them. Without even realising, her stance shifted ever so slightly until she held her bow as well as any of the archers surrounding her.

Susan shouted again and she released her arrow, letting it soar up into the air with the others.

* * *

The air was dry. And still, oh so still.

Isadora treaded carefully through the streets of the city. Sand had long been master here. Beneath her boots she could feel some sort of flagstone or cobble but the fine red sand completely hid it from view.

The buildings of the city were made of a red stone the same colour as the sand at her feet and the same colour as the mountains stretching away into the sky above her. They loomed over the city like a comforting wall; shielding it from all the troubles and worries of the world.

Somewhere far away she could hear a battle raging but she could not tell if it was on the other side of the city or whether it lay outside its walls. The sounds bounced back and forth and reverberated around her. One moment they were far away. The next they were echoing out of a doorway she passed or a shattered window above her.

Wait, that shout was real. She turned and took a step back as a Telmarine soldier burst through an archway; his sword drawn and his eyes wild beneath his uniform's mask. In one fluid movement, she drew back an arrow in her bow and set it free.

It found its mark in his chest and for a moment he flickered. Sand and the red buildings did not lie behind him, a green battlefield did, but before she could properly focus on it he exploded into a pile of sand that was whipped away by a sudden wind.

She drew another arrow from the quiver on her back and notched it in her bow. No more soldiers leapt out at her. She was alone once again.

She took a deep breath and then crept forward again. One foot in front of the other, her tread light and even, she made her way through the streets and alleyways of this strange abandoned city.

One alleyway was cast into shadow. Scraps of fabric fluttered from the windows high above her as she stood for a moment and stared down it. Looking down, she saw blood drops in the sand which perfectly circled around a single black feather. More blood drops led off down the alleyway like a little gruesome treasure hunt and she found herself compelled to follow.

The alleyway opened into a wide courtyard surrounded the shells of houses long unoccupied. She paused, still wrapped in the shadows of the alleyway.

Two children were playing in the sands of the courtyard. A boy and a girl, dressed in white and bare-footed. They were kneeling very close to each other and making a little heap of sand each. The boy looked distinctly Telmarine, there was no doubting it, but there was something peculiar about the girl. She looked as if she had Telmarine blood somewhere in her veins but she also looked strangely Narnian. Something about the way she carried herself and the way the light sparkled in her eyes. She was a wild girl and the very way she moved spoke of woodland glades and fast-flowing streams.

Isadora took a step forward.

 _Snap!_

The heel of her boot had landed on an uncovered flagstone. The noise rang out freakishly loud and caused both children to look round for the source of the noise.

In an instant, the girl had bolted like a frightened rabbit. The boy, however, stayed. He knelt back and smiled her, his head slowly tipping to one side as he regarded her.

"Merry?" a voice called from the direction the girl had vanished in. "Merry!"

He looked off into the distance, turned back to Isadora and smiled sadly before running off after the girl.

As his dark head vanished around a corner, she felt a hand close upon her arm. Someone pulled her around, hard, and she found herself looking into a pair of brown eyes.

"You need to wake up."

* * *

She jolted back into reality and ducked a blade with a scream as a Telmarine soldier swung for her. She managed to loose the arrow in her bow and he fell with a strangled cry.

"Look alive, Isadora!" Edmund shouted as he ran past her.

Where was she? She had been on the ledge with Susan and Trumpkin and now she was on the grass in front of the How. A great tear had opened in the ground and bodies were still writhing around and trying to climb out of it. The Telmarine cavalry were scattered and the first of the regiments were surrounding the Narnians.

Her hands began to shake and she wildly scanned about for Caspian.

There he was, and he was slowly being backed towards the pit by two soldiers! She tried to run for him, only stopping to fell soldiers that came at her, but she was too slow and he tumbled down and out of sight.

With a little gasp of panic, she ran for the hole and barely checked herself before jumping down. She landed on top of Caspian clumsily and felt pain shoot up her injured leg.

A solider wrenched a pike from the ground and turned to them with an angry cry. She cringed and threw herself backwards so she covered more of Caspian's body. The soldier took a few steps forward but halted when he saw the cousins lying there in the dirt.

It was Glozelle. Isadora and Caspian stared up at him, eyes wide, waiting for him to make a move. He breathed out heavily and began to lower the pike.

Then a giant tree root shot through the earth behind him. It wrapped around his waist and yanked him against the wall of the pit. He fell to the floor and did not move.

"Wha-?" Isadora moaned as she rolled off of Caspian. He helped her up and together they climbed back up to the battlefield to witness what would be among the strangest spectacles of their lives.

Trees were wading through the grass as easily as a human waded through water. They whipped their branches at the Telmarine soldiers and sent their roots flying through the earth to crush the enemy war machines.

Peter stepped up beside Caspian and Isadora.

"This is Lucy's doing," he said with a smile as the other Narnians rallied around them. He raised his sword and yelled, "For Aslan!"

A great roar followed as he led the charge against the now fleeing Telmarines and Caspian gladly followed him, his sword also held aloft.

But Isadora did not follow. Even if she wanted to, her leg would have made it difficult. Then again, she was completely and utterly spent. She stood as still as a rock as the Narnians chased the Telmarines back towards Beruna and it was only when she was left alone did she appear to come back to life. She started to cast about her, searching.

Slowly she limped amongst the bodies. Eventually she caught a glimpse of the golden armour amongst the black of the Telmarines and the red of the Narnians.

He was covered in dirt but he looked peaceful, almost like he was sleeping. A sob caught in her throat and she fell to her knees. Her vision blurred as tears poured down her face and she slumped across his body.

" _Father_ ," she sobbed, curling up tight against him, her arms still across his chest. " _Father, no._ "

She did not know how long she stayed there for. The sun above moved slowly across the sky and others came and went across the battlefield but she did not move. How could she? All her energy was gone and all she could bring herself to do was clutch her father's corpse

From above came the soft beatings of wings. She looked up in time to see an eagle land carefully in the grass beside her. It was larger than any she had seen before and its feathers were purest black in colour.

"No," she said venomously. "No, no, _no!_ Go away! You can't, not now! I don't want to talk to you!"

The Black Eagle stared at her as she bent her head and once again began to cry over her father's body.

"Rise!" it commanded and she froze with a strangled hiccup. "Rise and obey, Daughter of Telmar!"

She looked up once more.

The Eagle was gone and in its place was a golden lion. She gasped and scrabbled away, prostrating herself on the churned grass of the battlefield.

"You know me," He said.

"Yes, Lord," she replied.

"As I am known by many names, so shall you," He said. "You were born a Daughter of Telmar and now you must become a Daughter of Narnia. It is my Will that you bring together your nations and forge a new; a land of both Narnians and Telmarines with Caspian as King. You are to be his guardian and his advisor; the herald of the new age. This shall be your purpose and your path in life. Will you obey?"

"Yes, I will," she stammered.

"Then go, and take my blessing," He said. For a moment, His great amber eyes were tinged with sadness. "I feel your pain, my child," He said to her softly. "A father is a difficult figure to lose, no matter who he may have been as a man. Go in peace, and know that your sorrow will eventually pass."

With those words, He lifted a velvety paw and laid it upon one of her shoulders and, although it did not cure her pain, His touch eased it a little.

* * *

 **Nearing the end! :) I'm curious to know what you think of Dor's odd little "episode". She could have picked a better time, no?**

 **Thanks to TortoisetheStoryteller and Wildhorses1492 for your reviews last chapter! Onwards to the finishing line!**


	20. A Family's Grief

She barely remembered meeting back up with Caspian and the Kings and Queens of Old. Much later on, when she thought back hard on what she saw, pieces of memory flittered forward like butterflies.

She remembered the devastation of Beruna, the shattered bridge, the remains of the army. She remembered Lorrin sitting on a rock, his face ashen and his hands clutching a key chain similar to the one now around her neck.

She remembered Susan and Lucy trying to say something to her; trying to offer some words of comfort. She would never remember what those words were, even in the future when a grief ten times worse would grip her heart and cause her to lie in bed almost lifeless.

In some sort of dream, she made her way back to the castle. She climbed the familiar staircases and walked through the halls of her home until she arrived in her family's private sitting room. She paused in the middle of the room. Her fingers trailed slowly over the back of his armchair. How many times had they sat here as a family? Even only a few nights ago they had gathered, laughing and dancing at the prospect of his coronation.

The door opened on the far side of the room and her mother slipped in.

They stared at each other for a moment before Isadora held her hands out like a small child.

"Mama," she sobbed.

Prunaprismia crossed the room and gathered her into her arms.

"Shhh," she said comfortingly, stroking her daughter's hair. Isadora clung to her, now earnestly weeping once more.

"So, it's true then?" she heard Ghaliya say as her sister entered.

"Yes, petal, I'm afraid so," Prunaprismia said to her.

Ghaliya's face crumpled and she ran for them. Prunaprismia sighed and held both of her girls as they cried into her shoulders. She rocked them tenderly and hummed a gentle tune, her cheek pressed to the top of Ghaliya's head.

The door opened once more and Marisela trailed in, dragging her toy duck behind her.

"Where's Father?" she asked, staring at her teary mother and sisters.

"Your father is gone, Little Duck," Prunaprismia said. "The Eagle came to take him away."

Marisela paused. She dragged her duck around so it was at her feet and stared down at it.

"I don't believe you," she said. "I want Father."

Prunaprismia walked over to her and knelt down so she was level with her youngest daughter's face. She pushed Marisela's loose hair back and cupped her cheeks; a gesture many had used on the little girl.

"Your father isn't here anymore," their mother said softly, "but he wants you to know that he loves you."

She turned to look at her oldest two, tears now streaming openly down her cheeks. "He loves you all very much," she said, her voice breaking.

Speech gave over to fresh tears and all Miraz's women could do was gather together and weep.

He may not have been a beloved man to all, but he had been a beloved man by some. He had had a family.

A family that now grieved for him bitterly.

* * *

"Have you named him yet?"

Isadora opened her eyes. Night had fallen outside and the only light in the room came from the fire. Marisela was sprawled across her and Ghaliya was tucked into her side tight. All three had fallen asleep on one of the couches by the fireplace. Across the room, she could see her mother and Caspian, and in Caspian's arms was her little brother.

"No," Lady Prunaprismia was saying to him. "Miraz has been… I mean was too busy for us to properly discuss it. I like Caspian but Miraz never has… I think because of your father."

"To think all this happened because of him…" Caspian mused, staring down at his little cousin.

"I think this was always going to happen," Prunaprismia said sadly. "Your father was a good King but not a good brother. I often fought with Miraz because he could only see Caspian in you and not your mother. I loved him and he loved me but I knew there was a darkness in his heart that would never shift."

Caspian was silent.

"May I have one request?" Prunaprismia asked.

"Of course," he said.

"I know my husband will go down in history as a villain," she said slowly, "and I do not want to refute that. But please, I beg you, please let it be remembered that he was always good to my girls."

"I'll see," he said, his voice tight.

They stayed quiet for a moment. The baby fussed slightly so Caspian passed him back to his mother.

"Aunt Prue," he said as she settled the baby. "I want you to know that I hold no grudge against you or your children. You and the girls and even this little one will always be free from the stigma of your husband's actions, I promise. Narnia will always be your home."

Prunaprismia reached out and stroked his shoulder comfortingly. "Thank you, your Majesty," she said.

"Please don't call me that," he said and she laughed quietly.

"You better get used to it, Caspian," she said.

"I don't know if I ever will."

"Of course you will. You have the blessing of Aslan, and I am certain that you have the blessing of the Eagle too. And you have a good foundation of people to help you at the start, just like your father did with Lord Bern and the others. Dor will never leave you – even if you try to kick her out the castle."

"Auntie, I'm so scared."

She leaned forward and pulled him into her embrace. "I know you are," she whispered, "but I believe in you. I think your mother would be very proud of you, Cas, if she was still with us today."

* * *

"Dor?" someone said. Her hair was stroked back from her ear and her bed sagged slightly as someone sat down.

"Dor, honey? Wake up."

She opened her eyes and stretched.

"You slept all day. You missed Caspian's coronation," her mother was saying.

She sat up and made some sort of non-committal noise.

"You should have gone," Prunaprismia said gently.

"He will understand why I didn't. He had the Kings and Queens of Old there. People won't notice that I was missing."

Prunaprismia sighed and pulled her daughter out of bed. She directed her across the room and sat her down in front of her vanity.

"There is going to be a ball to celebrate his ascension to the throne. It starts in a little while," Prunaprismia said as she began to brush Isadora's hair. "You, Ghaliya, and I are going to go down as a show of good faith. Marisela and the baby are staying with the nurse."

"I'm not wearing the dress," Isadora muttered. Her eyes flicked to the hated black and gold dress, still propped up in the corner of the room.

Her mother chuckled. "No. We won't wear anything too fancy. Wear the red dress with the black beading; that will do."

"Do I have to stay long?" she asked.

"Maybe an hour? Maybe a little more if we feel like it? We are just showing face, that is all," her mother replied.

By the time they were all ready to head down, they could hear the faint beginnings of music echoing up from the courtyard. Rather than hold his coronation ball in the Main Hall, Caspian had decided to hold it in the courtyard where there was more space for guests and just a generally more pleasant atmosphere – especially for the Old Narnians. They were still wary of the imposing Telmarine castle.

Isadora snidely wondered if they would feel quite so at ease if she reminded them that only a few nights ago their brethren's blood had washed the flagstones beneath their now-dancing feet.

However, such thoughts are always best kept to oneself and she had no intention of spoiling Caspian's special day.

Ghaliya squeezed her sister's hand and disappeared amongst the crowd of people. Similarly, Lord Scythley appeared and, with a small smile to Isadora, led Prunaprismia off towards a small group of the still-living Telmarine Lords.

Isadora was left alone in the crowd for only a moment but it seemed like an eternity. She looked around her, at faces she knew and faces she didn't, and she did not see a single friend. All of a sudden she was no longer the adored one. Her father's legacy was already descending on to her shoulders with a terrible weight and all she wanted was to turn tail and run.

Then Caspian was by her side again and all was right in the world. She smiled up at him as he wrapped his arm around her waist. They could have been at any party; that picture of the two of them had been replicated a thousand times over in their pasts and would be replicated in their futures a thousand times more.

"I missed you today," he said to her as he guided her through his new subjects.

"I'm sorry. I should have been there," she said. "I just needed some time to myself."

"Of course," he said, nodding his head.

They had reached a table set up with refreshments. As Caspian poured them both a goblet of wine, she glanced around them. The crowds momentarily parted and she smiled as she saw Edmund and Lucy talking with Ghaliya. Her younger sister had two pink spots on her cheeks and bright eyes and she was chatting animatedly with the King and Queen.

"So, how did you manage to swindle your way on to the throne two years early?" she asked playfully as Caspian handed her a goblet.

He grinned. "Remember at Nain's coronation how you said that Aslan could appear and tell me I was ready to be King? Well, that did end up happening!"

They giggled together like they were children once more.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly when their laughter had died. She shrugged.

"No, but I'll keep going. As always," she said. She remembered the Lion's words and she smiled to herself.

Caspian looked out at his guests and his gaze fell upon Susan. Isadora smirked as he watched the Queen talked with Trumpkin. Just because she felt miserable did not mean she had to stand in the way of another's happiness and she felt like she had already occupied far too much of Caspian's time.

"You should go dance with her," she said, giving him a gentle nudge in the back.

"Should I?" he asked, staring at the girl across the courtyard. She rolled her eyes and gave him a more hefty push. With another laugh, he put down his goblet and headed off towards the Gentle Queen.

She watched him with an expert eye as he bowed in front of Susan. Clearly he knew a little more about romance than she thought he did.

Over against one wall, she saw Lorrin standing alone. Nobody else at the party looked even slightly welcoming so she made her way across to him.

"Hello," she said. He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement and swirled the contents of his goblet.

"I'm sorry to hear about your father," she said, leaning against the wall next to him. Someone, maybe Edmund or possibly Caspian, had tried to tell her in the midst of her daze that she would be unable to personally enact revenge upon Lord Sopespian. Something about him being swallowed by a River God at Beruna. Those whole few hours were hazy to her, she had to admit.

He made a face.

"I've been spending my time here trying to compose a letter to my mother and my sisters to let them know," he said bitterly. "Marita was taking care of the house at Beruna, so she already knows, but Mother is on her annual visit to Redhaven, Rebeca and Adelia are holidaying in Terebinthia with their husbands and Viviana is visiting her in-laws in Archenland. Why do they all have to be so far away?"

"I'm sure they've already heard," she said. "News like this is sure to travel quickly."

"They should hear it from me though," he said. "They also need to know that Caspian has cast a dispensation for the wives and children of the Lords who supported your father. He's determined to bring the Narnians and the Telmarines together, it would seem."

Someone detached themselves from the crowd and approached the two of them with a purpose. Isadora studied him as he drew near. He was a Telmarine; dark haired, dark eyed, and handsome of face. He bowed in front of them and shot Isadora a smile so dashing it made even her grief-soaked heart flutter.

"Lady Isadora, I am sorry for your loss," he said.

She didn't say anything so he turned to Lorrin.

"Sir, might I have a word in private," he said. "I was conducting some business with your father and I wish to bring it to your attention."

"Can't it wait?" Lorrin asked, his voice weary.

The stranger smiled in a manner that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand up. His dark eyes glittered with some unknown mystery.

"Not exactly…" he said slowly.

Lorrin rolled his eyes but set down his goblet and set off with the stranger in search of privacy.

Isadora stayed where she was. A great gasp of delight went up from the crowd as fireworks exploded in the sky overhead and they all turned to stare up at them, _oohing_ and _aahing_ at spectacle. She made no such noise. All she could think of was the last time she had seen fireworks.

On the night her brother had been born.

On the night Caspian had run.

On the night everything had been turned upside down.

Someone coughed beside her, breaking her from her reverie. She tore her gaze away the sky and was surprised to see Peter.

"I wish to apologise," he began, slightly awkwardly, "for my conduct over the past few days. I did not treat you very well."

"It's fine. You were at war and I was the enemy. I have my life and I have my health so you treated me perfectly well," she replied diplomatically. "You let me fight beside you when I changed sides when you could have just as easily turned me away again."

"Look, would you please let me apologise?" he said, smiling. "Caspian said you were stubborn but I never imagined you could hold face so well."

She laughed. "I, your Majesty, am a lady of the court, granddaughter of Caspian VIII and…"

"And descendant of the Bloodline of the Bow," he finished with a grin. "I remember your little speech outside the How."

"It was quite the performance by both of us," she said.

They watched the dance for a moment.

"You know," he said. "Under different circumstances, I think you and I could grow to be friends."

She smiled and looked down at her feet. "I think so too," she said. She shot him a wicked little look. "I can never resist a man with golden hair."

There was a bizarre little moment of silence and then she broke down into near hysterical laughter.

"I'm sorry," she said, covering her face with her hands. "Why did I say that?"

"It has been an eventful few days," he reassured her gently. "I imagine everyone is feeling a tad scrambled."

"And none more so than me," she agreed. He laughed heartily.

"Come, we should join the party again," he said and led her over towards the little cluster of their siblings.

As the fireworks came to an end and the dancing struck up once more, Lorrin exited a side-door of the castle and stepped into the courtyard again. His face was pale and his hands shook as he straightened his clothes. The stranger followed him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry to drag you into this," he said with a smile, "but hey, business is business! We'll be watching!"

With that, he vanished into the party, leaving Lorrin with a problem far more vexing than how to break the news of his father's death to his family.

* * *

 **There you have it, the penultimate chapter of _Ashes_. **

**It is, I must admit, incredibly tempting to write one of those AUs where the Pevensies remain in Narnia and co-rule with Caspian. Alas, however, I already have a plot all worked out that follows the canon route - with my own twists added in, of course. :D**

 **Thanks to PrettyRecklessLaura, Wildhorses1492, and Ceara Einin for your reviews last chapter. As always, leave me another to let me know what you thought and I will see you next time, for the final chapter of _Ashes_ and the beginning of _Flames_.**


	21. Farewell

Somebody knocked on her door.

"Come in!" she called. She sincerely hoped it wasn't Caspian. All morning she had been hiding in her rooms again. Caspian was excitedly making plans for his first year on the throne and she just did not have the energy to bound alongside him just yet.

She could have sighed with relief when the door opened and revealed her grandfather but the solemn look on his face prevented her from doing so.

"Your mother and I have something we wish to discuss with you," Scythley said. "Would you please join us in the sitting room?"

"Of course," she said and followed him out of the room. As they entered the sitting room, Ghaliya looked around at them with questions in her eyes.

"Please sit, Dor," Prunaprismia said from her armchair.

Isadora nervously perched next to Ghaliya on the sofa. Scythley stood beside Prunaprismia's armchair. No-one could bring themselves to look at the other armchair which now lay empty.

"Girls," Prunaprismia began. "Your grandfather and I have just left a meeting Caspian called with the other surviving Telmarine Lords. Some of them are not…. comfortable with the prospect of living alongside the Old Narnians. According to Caspian, Aslan is willing to let these folk leave and start a new life elsewhere; somewhere safe that He will show them."

"And I suppose you want to take the offer," Ghaliya said slowly.

Isadora's heart gave a terrible pang and she looked quickly between all three of them.

Her mother nodded sadly. "I feel there is no place in Caspian's vision for a reformed Narnia for me," she said, "and I would rather raise your brother away from any stigma or gossip."

"I am going to accompany your mother, as will Marisela since she is so young, but we have decided to allow you two to reach your own decision," Scythley told them. "It is up to you whether you stay here with Caspian or come with us."

Isadora and Ghaliya exchanged a look.

"Obviously, if you wish to come with us, Dor, then I won't stop you but I highly recommend that you stay with Caspian," Scythley said. "He is going to need you by his side."

"Father, don't," Prunaprismia said. She stood.

"We should leave them for a moment to talk it over," she said. "Come on, we should prepare Marisela and the baby."

"What?" the sisters gasped together.

"We only have today?" Isadora said, her eyes as round as saucers.

Prunaprismia exchanged a look with her father and then turned back to her daughters.

"If I could then I would give you more time," she said quietly, "but Caspian told us that this would be dealt with this afternoon. He told us personally but messengers have been sent out to gather the common folk. This matter is going to be dealt with swiftly so the unification of Narnia can begin as soon as possible."

She smiled. It was not her usual smile; instead it was tinged with sadness and did not quite reach her eyes.

"We'll leave you to talk it over," she said and she and Scythley withdrew from the room.

Ghaliya and Isadora turned to each other and clutched their hands together.

"What do we do? What do we do?" Ghaliya said, tears welling in her eyes again.

Isadora didn't answer. She just stared at their father's empty armchair.

"Dor? Will you please say something?" her sister begged.

"Grandfather is right," she said in a small voice. "Caspian needs me. I need to stay."

"What do I do? Dor, help me! What do I do?" Ghaliya said, now sobbing in earnest. She threw her arms around her sister's neck and clung to her like she had never clung to her before.

"I don't want our family to split!" she wept. "I don't want to leave you behind but I don't want to let Mother go!"

"I know," Isadora said softly. "I can't tell you what to do, Ghaliya. You are going to have to decide for yourself."

* * *

In time, they had all gathered. The Kings and Queens, the Narnians, the Telmarines, and the Great Lion, Aslan. Isadora watched Him nervously from her spot next to Dr Cornelius and Trumpkin as Caspian explained Aslan's proposition to the common Telmarines. The Great Lion gave her no acknowledgement save for the small smile He had given her as she had approached with her family.

Instead, she focused on where they stood. It was an odd little square before the castle that, up until this point, was primarily used for festivals and other social gatherings in Beaversdam. One side of it hung slightly out over the gorge that surrounded the castle and on this precipice there had always stood a lone tree.

The children of Beaversdam had long been fascinated with this tree and were forever trying to climb it when their guardians were not looking. Even Isadora had climbed it in her day; Caspian and Gregoire egging her on and keeping a lookout for the frazzled, searching nurse.

"It has been generations since we left Telmar! Even if we were to return, the cities would be destroyed, the trade routes lost. How would we survive?" one of the Telmarine Lords called out, breaking her concentration.

"King Caspian does not refer to Telmar," Aslan said, taking a step forward. "He refers to the Old Country; where the First Caspian and the original Merchant Lords came from. Where our Kings and Queens came from."

He paused as He looked over to the Kings and Queens of Old.

"There is an Island there, where the First Telmarines ran aground after a storm. I will return you there. It is a good place to start anew," He said.

There was a pause and then a voice called, "I will accept the offer."

Glozelle stepped forward from the depths of the crowd. As he passed Lady Prunaprismia and her family, she spoke up.

"So will we."

With the baby in her arms and Marisela's hand firmly in Lord Scythley's, they followed the general and, after a moment's hesitation, Ghaliya followed too.

Surprise momentarily flashed across Caspian's face and then he bowed slightly in recognition of their decision.

Isadora stepped forward to join them and say a quick goodbye to her family, although that action did cause Caspian to look at her quizzically.

"Hold your horses, you aren't getting rid of me that easily," she said, giving him a dirty look as she embraced her grandfather for the final time.

She crouched down so she was level with Marisela. "Will you take care of Mother for me, Little Duck?" she asked.

"No," Marisela said grumpily. "You do it, Dor."

She chuckled and hugged her sister. "I can't. I'm staying here to look after Caspian. You need to help Mother now."

She straightened up and turned to her mother with a sad smile. Tears in her eyes, Prunaprismia embraced her daughter with her free arm and Isadora took in her mother's perfume for the last time.

"I love you, Mother," she said thickly and then laid a kiss on her brother's temple.

The little brother she would never know.

Finally she turned to the sister she had known the longest but had arguably had the worst relationship with until very recently. Ghaliya threw her arms around Isadora's neck and the sisters held each other more tightly and sincerely than they ever had before.

"Take care of them," Isadora whispered to her.

"I will," she said, stepping back and wiping her tears from her eyes.

The adults had just been exchanging a farewell with Caspian. After a slight pause, Glozelle dug under his shirt and lifted his key chain from around his neck.

"I return these to you, sire, and I hope you find a more fitting candidate to bear them than I," he said as he passed them to Caspian.

"I hope to find someone as loyal and as trustworthy as you, General," Caspian replied.

"I have already passed my keys to Isadora," Scythley told him. "May she serve you as the Lady of the Bow with as much fervour and loyalty as her namesake did yours."

Caspian bowed his head and let the little group turn and approach Aslan. As they did so, Isadora's hand slipped into his and he gave it a quick squeeze.

The Lion smiled at those before Him. "Since you have spoken first, your futures in the Old Country will be good," He said and breathed upon them.

From the lone tree there came a great cracking noise and, to the gasps of the crowd, the trunk twisted in two and revealed a doorway in the air.

"May the Eagle guide your path," Caspian said to them, almost as an afterthought, before they walked away.

"Oh, it certainly does," Isadora said with a small smile to Aslan.

As her family and Glozelle approached the tree, she took them in one final time; committing every detail she could to memory. Then she closed her eyes. She did not want to see them vanish.

Only a murmur running through the crowd and Caspian's hand leaving hers let her know that they were gone.

"Where did they go? How do we know they are not sending us to our deaths!" a sceptical Telmarine yelled from the crowd.

A little mouse stepped forward. "Sire, I will take a dozen mice through without delay to dispel any rumours," he said. Isadora remembered him from around the How. His name was Reepicheep and he had constantly made these little foolhardy declarations.

"That won't be necessary," Peter said from behind them. "We will go."

"We will?" Edmund asked.

Peter looked back at his siblings and smiled sadly.

"Our time is up," he said simply. With a smile, he undid Rhindon's belt from around his waist and offered it to Caspian.

"We aren't needed any longer. Narnia is in capable hands," he said.

Caspian stared at him and then gripped Rhindon's sheath. "I will safeguard it until your return," he promised.

"Then you will be safeguarding it for a very long time," Susan replied from where she still stood with Edmund and Lucy. "We will not be coming back."

"Ever?" Lucy asked. Disbelief crept over her face and she turned to look at the scenery around them, desperately trying to commit it to memory as Isadora had done minutes before with her family.

"Don't worry, Lu," Peter said to her. "You'll be back again, and so will you Ed."

He turned and met Aslan's gaze. "At least, I think He means you two," he added almost as an afterthought.

"Did they do something wrong?" Lucy asked the Lion.

He gave a great rumbling chuckle and shook His great mane. "No, dear one, quite the opposite," He said. "Your brother and sister have learned all they can from Narnia. It is time they learned to live in your world."

Peter walked back over to his siblings and they exchanged a few private words. Then they were ready to say their goodbyes. Isadora left Caspian's side as Susan approached him and walked over to Lucy and Trumpkin. As she reached them, Lucy hugged Trumpkin tight and then turned to Isadora.

It was clear that she was trying to hold back tears as she turned to Isadora.

"I'm really pleased to have met you, Dor," she said. "Thank you for telling me those stories."

"I'm pleased we met too," Isadora said to her. She looked at her feet. "I think… I wish we could have spent more time together," she said.

Lucy hugged her. "Aslan has given His word that Ed and I will come back," she said, "and I hope we will see each other then."

As they stepped apart, they saw Caspian and Susan kissing.

"Well, that's an interesting development," Lucy muttered before wandering back over to her brothers. "Are you sure I'm going to understand this when I'm older again?" she asked playfully.

"Try and stay young, Lu," Edmund said. "I'm older and I don't think I want to understand all the details."

He looked between Peter and Isadora and winked at the latter as his elder brother cleared his throat and looked away.

Susan walked over to her brothers and sister. The Kings and Queens of Old linked hands and walked towards the doorway in the tree.

Right before they passed through, Lucy looked back. Her eyes passed over the country she loved so, her friends, Caspian and Isadora, and finally came to rest on Aslan. She smiled and turned back and the four heads – two dark, two golden – passed out of sight.

Isadora walked over to Caspian and threaded her hand into his again.

He was now all she had left. Fate had taken her family from her in two sharp swoops except for her dearest cousin and friend. They only had each other.

And she was not about to let them fall. They had a task to undertake.

A nation to forge, greater than any before.

* * *

 **So, here we are, at the end of _Ashes_. My deepest and heartfelt thanks to everybody who has reviewed this story and given me such wonderful feedback and encouragement.**

 _ **The Problem of Ghaliya -**_ **while writing this, I became concerned with the role of Ghaliya. In truth, I became rather fond of her (her predecessor was a clichéd mess of an ugly duckling called Marcia. Ghaliya far surpasses her as a character) and I began to wonder if it was possible to keep her with her sister. However, her potential role began to cause problems with my planned plot that would have required rather shaky explanations on my part. My indecision about where she would go continued even to the writing of this final chapter, as is evident in the first scene. Eventually I decided to stick to my original plan and send her to the Old Country with her mother. I may not be happy about this decision but it is definitely for the best.  
**

 **I'm really excited to bring you the next part of Caspian and Isadora's adventure. It is called _Flames_ and I hope you enjoy it as much as _Ashes_. I've got some really exciting plans for it.**

 **Thank you again for reading, and thank you to C.S. Lewis for inventing such a beautiful world for me to play in as a writer.**


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